After the Adventure
by Somerandomuser
Summary: The adventure is over but life is beginning. Struggle and triumph, joy and sorrow. After the Adventure picks up as Harry's talk with Dumbledore's portrait ends shows his life start to unfold, a life without Voldemort. It's not going to be easy, but it is his. (Rated M for violence, adult themes, complex ideas of morality especially in the weeks after the war.)
1. The Sound of Winter

**Disclaimer**: As always I have no claim or stake in anything related to Harry Potter or connected franchises which may be nodded toward within the story.

**Foreword:** The following is my imagining of what happens after the grand adventure but before young Albus-Severus is even really thought of. The Wizarding World and The-Boy-Who-Lived have a lot of work to do. But hey, everyone needs to unwind from time to time.

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**Chapter One: _ The Sound of Winter_**

Harry Potter left the office of the Hogwarts headmaster without a proper goodbye. Goodbyes were for the end and the one thing this was not was the end. More than that, there was nothing left to be said between Harry Potter and the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. There were plenty of questions still left unanswered but not a single one of them overwhelmed the sense of numb exhaustion that had taken hold of his body. He kept the Elder Wand tight to his person as he swept through the castle, feeling like another person entirely, someone who had the right and the ability to feel very little that day. Hermione and Ron stuck to either side of him and there was a muted thankfulness. He knew that had he needed to-perhaps even had he the choice-Harry would have done this alone. However, they stuck faithfully to him despite the fact that there was a lot that either of them would want to do.

As they approached the Great Hall, Harry heard that he had been noticed by some of those within the doors but he continued down the foyer to the castle's front doors. Disheveled and looking as exhausted as he thought, Luna and Neville hurried from the room an approached them.

"Where are you going?" Neville asked. Harry paused, allowing himself a moment to wonder at the transformation in his friend. "We'll come with you." He opened his mouth to protest but found very little motivation and saw no outward sign of that either of them were willing to listen to anything that he had to say against it. Ron might have begun to protest but Harry found himself raising a hand and gesturing out of the door. He felt no less comfortable with the added companions, even was able to appreciate them ferociously in the corner of his mind that was able to process what was happening.

He headed for the lake as soon as they cleared the doors, doors which were jammed open by rubble and had to be climbed out of. The bodies of the Death Eaters from the first battle, earlier in the evening still littered the grounds and he had little curiosity for their identities as he stepped over them. Instead, he focused on keeping one foot in front of the other and the silence that the grounds had taken on. Short of the lake, he saw the broken and defiled tomb of Albus Dumbledore and angled for it, his phoenix feather wand in his hand.

_Wingardium Leviosa._

The magic came silently to him, more easily than ever before. He watched chunks of the destroyed white marble lid rise and then with an equally silent flick of his wrist repaired it. It rotated and spun in midair as he brought his off-hand up, clutching the Elder Wand for the final piece of magic it would ever do—hopefully. The magic looked into him, found what he wanted and did it. For just a moment, in blazing glowing gold the lid bore the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, as it would under this particular moon at this moment in its cycle for the rest of time.

He stooped over his mentor's tomb, finding no fear whatsoever gazing into the pale, cold face that clashed with his magnificent dark robes. He felt no revulsion as he slid the Elder Wand into the grasping cold stiff hands and no remorse as he let the lid fall back into place, sealing it this time for added measure. The symbol of the Hallows meant more to Harry than the objects themselves or even the legend. Despite what Dumbledore might have thought of himself, he had willingly died to spare others' lives. He knew in the end that to conquer death, one only had to die and that made him a true master of death.

In the next moment the weariness overtook him and he wavered on his feet. His left arm was lifted and thrown over broad shoulders while the right encircled more completely the shoulders of the second person. Looking from left to right he didn't see Ron and Hermione but Neville and Luna. A soft chuckle managed to tear from him. "Boy-Who-Lived, he can duel but he can't make his way up to Gryffindor Tower on his own. What a tosser."

"That's right," Neville said, as if humoring someone young or stupid, "A tosser. Now come on." Harry didn't take exception to the tone; he was finding that even with help it was hard to walk. He felt as if someone had flipped a switch and made his body start to shut down. "Up we go."

For Harry it might have been years or seconds after his head hit the pillow but he heard a slight commotion from the door and it was somehow enough to rouse him from an unsteady sleep that he was sure had been filled with dreams. He rolled over in the four-poster bed and peeked out through a gap in the curtains. The voices were hushed, but there was a bit of edge to both of them. With a resigned sigh, he pushed himself into a sitting position and found that he could not make himself stand.

He crawled out of bed, quite literally falling to the floor and crawling for a couple of feet before he could get a leg under him.

"See what you've done?" shot one of the voices, and Harry realized that Ron, Dean and Ginny were around him. "Sorry, Harry." Harry turned his eyes on Ginny's worried face, matching gazes with her so that it was impossible for him to not see the emotions dancing around in her eyes. None of them looked very good, but then he could imagine she probably could have said the same of him.

"It's okay," he whispered, hazily. "What's wrong?"

"Mum wants you to come back to the Burrow," Ron replied, quietly. "George, Bill, Charlie, Fleur, Dad and Hermione are there already, trying to get some sleep. Of course, you know Mum, something got into her and she decided she had to be down in the kitchen with the House Elves cooking for everyone who was going to be waking up in the Great Hall tomorrow." That got the most solid emotional response out of him that he thought he had had since Voldemort's corpse was dragged from the room. It started as a smile but within seconds he was laughing and crying at once. The uncomfortable, terrified look Ron gave him did nothing to stop this, but he felt Ginny bury her head against his shoulder, felt her arms around him and tried to find the strength to hug her back. It was a feat he barely accomplished.

Molly Weasley was another damn hero in a crowd full of heroes who would never be entirely whole again. He loved her and all of them as he had never thought he would be able to love anyone in that moment.

"The Burrow will be crowded," he managed as he calmed down. "Lots of people I want to talk to, hands I want to thank, apologies and explanations I need to give. That's something for tomorrow, Ron." He saw that Ron didn't look even a little bit dejected, instead more relieved at Harry's apparent return to sanity.

"Where, then?" Ginny demanded against him. "Where will you go?"

"Grimmauld Place," he replied, resting his chin on top of her head.

"I'll come too."

His eyes rose to Ron as Ginny spoke and he watched the fight play out across Ron's face before the redhead took a step backward and held up both hands in defeat. Harry did not directly respond to her, instead he whispered into the air a name.

"Kreacher." The crack signifying his arrival made Harry's head turn slightly, made him wince.

"Yes, Master Harry?" the old elf replied, looking a little apprehensive.

"I'm really proud to know you." The reaction was instantaneous and so Dobby-like in its tenderness that as Kreacher smiled widely it almost hurt. "I have to talk to you about something tomorrow, something important, but first I need to sleep. Please... take us home." He felt Ginny shift against him, turning outward to glance at her brother and house-mate.

"Come 'round for dinner at the Burrow or I reckon Mum will send snatchers of her own to find you and force-feed you both." The grudging humor in his best mate's voice let Harry know that Ron was going to be alright in the end with Harry and Ginny... whatever form their relationship took. The house elf reached not for Harry but Ginny, who he was surprised, had no problem taking it. In one moment Harry was nodding agreement to Ron, then he blinked and they were standing in the hall of Grimmauld Place, the elf pulling Harry's jacket off with a snap of his fingers before Harry knew it.

"Master bedroom," Harry managed, "Is it safe to sleep in?" The elf paused, jacket in hand and turned back to them.

"This home is of the Noble House of Potter," he replied, grinning as broadly as earlier, seeming an entirely different elf than before the war. "Everything is safe to Master Harry and his friends, Kreacher sees to it." The note of pride tore at Harry's heartstrings but he couldn't broach the subject of freeing Kreacher, not tonight. Revolution could come in the morning, tonight he thanked Kreacher, told him to rest and ascended the stairs, his right hand in Ginny's.

They said nothing to each other, though whenever his footsteps wavered, she gave his hand a squeeze to remind him she was there and that was motivation enough for him to get them to the door of _his _room. This was his home. The Burrow was his home. Hogwarts was his home and in time even the cottage in Godric's Hollow would be his home. For a lonely orphan boy who had once slept beneath the stairs he had so many homes, so much family.

Inside the room had clearly been recently changed. A thick dark red carpet lined the floor, similarly colored walls awaited him, bare as they were. The emerald sheets had been turned down and looked as they themselves had been expecting him, expecting both of them. Harry allowed himself to match eyes with the redhead for the first time since arriving at Grimmauld place. What he saw dampened his spirits. What had this year brought her?

"Ginny?"

"Harry, I'm scared," she admitted, not looking away. "It's silly isn't it? Tom's dead... but I'm scared now. I don't know who I am, Harry. I've been The Youngest Weasley, Ron's Little Sister, The One Voldemort Possessed, Harry Potter's Girlfriend, The Rebel, but I don't know who I am right now. I don't know what I'm going to be tomorrow."

"The end's the beginning," he replied, attempting to sound sage and wise as his sight swam before his eyes. He noticed that his trainers hadn't made it home with him, or maybe they had and Kreacher had removed those too. Still, he stripped his socks off before collapsing back onto the bed. A moment later, the bed shifted slightly as she eased herself onto it, and then surprisingly pulled the covers up over both of them. He wondered if she had noticed that he was cold or simply did it out of sheer habit. "I'll be here, too." He wanted to say something more for her but since he had left the Great Hall last, Harry had felt everything from afar, like he was watching someone else's life. That would have scared him if he had been feeling things normally. That, too, was not important to him. He scooted forward, arms wrapping around Ginny and then closed his eyes. "I'll be here."

The night passed in silence after that. Several times Harry was woken by fitful nightmares, some of them his own, some of them Ginny's. Often she, too, woke at his. Each time it would happen, they would lie precisely where they were and watch each other until sleep overtook them again. Perhaps she, like him, was struggling with not understanding her feelings. Maybe not, though. He knew from the light spilling in from the window that on one such occasion, morning had come. Still, he watched her for a few moments, thinking that if he refused to go out into public and make appearances for a few more hours, everyone could deal with it.

If he hadn't earned the right to more sleep than should be good for a person once in a while, well, that was too bad. This pattern continued until the light pouring into the room was dimmer than he would have liked and Kreacher had apparently allowed someone into the house and let them knock on his bedroom door. He did not feel fear: only someone he trusted wholeheartedly would have been allowed this far without Kreacher alerting him.

"Who is it?" he called, wincing at his rough voice and the air of irritation it carried. More than that, he disliked that it was apparently enough to wake the girl in his arms.

"It's Hermione...can I come in?" There was a second's hesitation and then she added, "Are you decent?" Harry, who had been forced to change in front of Hermione so many times since the hunt for the Horcruxes began, knew what she was actually asking. Were they **both** decent? His laughter seemed to irritate Ginny, who called for Hermione to come inside as she made a half-hearted attempt to extract herself from his arms.

"Prat," she replied, sleepily as the door opened and Harry just hugged her tighter in apology. There were a lot of worse ways to wake up than to laughter, though. He loosened his hold on her to roll onto his back and tilt his head toward the doorway, surprised to find his glasses still on.

"R-Ron sent me," Hermione started, frozen in the doorframe like a deer caught in the wand light. "I don't think he wanted to-"

"To see this," Harry replied, evenly. The mirth on his lips felt wrong but at the same time at least he could feel... last night had been terrifying. To get to be close to Ginny again should have done this to him, left a sense of joy in his heart. Still, in that moment, even with Hermione blatantly embarrassed as she looked down at the pair of them, Harry felt like not laughing but cheering. He couldn't imagine what kinds of celebrations were happening all over Magical England. With an exasperated sigh, Ginny pulled down the covers to reveal that yes, they were both not only decent but still in their clothing from the battle which in Ginny's case meant dirt and dust and in Harry's the blood of Severus Snape.

"Look, Molly's really... insistent that no one starts dinner until you two get there and unless you want a riot, I think you better get up." Harry glanced over at Ginny, who had apparently resigned herself to getting up, stretching as she sat and then finally stood to hunt down her trainers. "Come on, it's nearly five in the evening."

Harry saw what Hermione was carrying and said, "No chance you've got anything Ginny might be able to wear in that magic bag of yours, is there?"

When Harry Disapparated, he wasn't sure what he had expected. With the deaths of Fred Weasley, Tonks and Lupin and so many others perhaps he had thought things would be somber and quiet, but that wasn't how it was at all. What was left of the Order of the Phoenix seemed to be there, as well as a several stray Hogwarts students Harry knew if he counted would constitute Dumbledore's Army, with its new recruits and all. Hagrid was the first to notice them; towering over the students he was telling a story to in his dark, hairy suit.

Harry didn't even hear his call of greeting over the sheer amount of fireworks and firecrackers screaming around in the air, shapes and colors swimming, turning, twisting and shifting. A ways away from the long array of tables pushed together, someone had started a massive bonfire and Ron was currently hovering just above the flames on an old Broomstick, apparently telling a story of his own to half of Gryffindor house. When he had apparently stood still too long for their tastes, Ginny and Hermione seized either of his hands and pulled him insistently along toward the party.

Hogwarts house elves were in attendance and Harry saw that they were not the strangest guests the Burrow had that night. Imposing and regal in his mauve robes, Minister Kingsley had apparently pulled himself away from the office, but it seemed it was still for business as he was huddled close with Horace Slughorn and Minerva McGonagall at one end of the table, apparently discussing something serious.

Somewhere in the crowd near the fire, music stopped playing. The fireworks Charlie, Bill and George Weasley had apparently been setting off slowed and then stopped all together. Harry realized why as he looked away from the Minister to the rest of the crowd. Descending dangerously toward the fire, Ron had just caught sight of him and was screaming. There were no words, but it was not a yell of terror, it was something like Harry had been feeling like doing all morning, it was almost like the howl of an animal. He raised a hand to his best mate and said the only thing that came to mind.

"Get your arse out of the fire, Ron Weasley!" As laughter erupted and spread across the expansive gathering, the Gryffindor Keeper shot up into the sky. The party started just outside of the gate, so Harry had no need to go into the house. He was assaulted with a chorus of cheers and greetings whenever he came near a large enough group. It didn't feel horrible because he could look into the faces of people he knew and see them still alive and breathing and passionate. His jab at Ron had seemed enough to set most people back about their business though, and Harry watched his friend descend back to the ground through the center of a bursting firework, coming in for a landing on the ground.

"That boy," Mrs. Weasley clucked from his left trying to sound disapproving. Harry turned, finding that Hermione had vanished at one point into the crowd and over Mr. Weasley's shoulder he could see her shouting Ron down, or trying to over all of the noise that had just reasserted itself. On his right side though, Ginny just clung more tightly to his hand as he approached her parents. They turned nearly matching gazes on the pair of them, looking first at Ginny, at their hands and finally at Harry. Harry watched, unable to completely erase the mirth in his face for this semi-serious moment. When Mrs. Weasley dislodged Ginny's hand in her effort to give him a tighter hug than Hagrid could ever dream of, Harry's grin grew freely. "We're so happy," the woman yelled, still barely heard from right beside him.

When he should have replied with something equally jubilant or at least thanked her for their blessing, he instead said, "You killed Bellatrix Lestrange."

Her face quickly twisted with worry and if Harry hadn't seen her less than twenty-four hours ago he might have believed her look one of a bit of fear.

"I did," she yelled back; tone as even as it possibly could be in that case. This time Harry hugged her. He hoped he didn't need to tell her what was in his mind, hoped she could understand the complexity of emotions he felt about her ending the life of the woman who had killed his godfather, tortured Hermione and attempted to take Ginny's life. When she ushered him toward the food-laden tables, Harry followed but only after Ginny had again taken hold of him and Arthur Weasley had slapped him once on the back.

He watched Mrs. Weasley's wand shoot bright showers of red into the air and saw an almost immediate reaction. The area around the Burrow might have been full of a hundred, maybe two-hundred revelers and while she was good, Mrs. Weasley was not able to whip up this much food by herself. The house-elves of Hogwarts must have helped and it was all the better because as Harry was steered to the seat at the very head of the line of tables, more people than he could count were coming at her beckoning. George and Ron seemed to be the head of the line on their broomsticks. Many people simply took plates and left for other parts of the field, often coming by to congratulate him, or say a kind word, shake his hand, anything to take up just a bit of his time. After almost an hour of this, Ginny leaned over from beside him and whispered something in Bill's ear. After that, Harry noticed that Bill and Fleur seemed to be about as close as most people got to him.

This allowed Harry to eat for the first time since Aberforth had fed him nearly two days ago. He was ravenous and gave Ron a run for his money with his appetite. Someone was always floating a drink down the table toward him and he, Ron and George seemed to be unable to turn down the mead, firewhiskey or rum that inevitably ended up in front of one of them. It lead to the occasional awkwardness as Fleur and Bill occasionally let someone through to talk to him, such as McGonagall to whom he confessed his gratitude with surprising control for his state or at one point Percy, who had apparently been in the drink himself and made a very large and pointed deal of Harry standing up and being hugged by him. The gesture did a lot to repair Harry's awkwardness around him but he had seen Percy's reunion with his family and the way he cared for Fred's body. He was glad to give it, even though Ginny informed him it was a sign of the end of the world.

The night wore on and became hazier and hazier. At one point, Harry was pulling Ron away from a group of younger members of the DA who were being regaled by the story of the Death Eaters who had caught up with them the night of Bill and Fleur's wedding but at another he found himself telling Elphias Doge loudly and in front of nearly thirty people that he was right about everything he had ever said about Dumbledore, that everyone in their pasts made mistakes and the worst mistakes of anyone's life should not ruin and invalidate everything of import they had done.

He knew that at some point Gabrielle Delacour and her parents had left him the gift of a bottle of wine and he had instantly handed it off to Ginny who had been very vocal that he not even consider touching it. By the time he had pulled himself away from Monsieur Delacour's man-to-man talk the party had halved in number and was lit only by the fire and several spelled lights, many of which Harry thought must have come from the Deluminator. He allowed Ginny to lead him closer to the bonfire, where someone had gotten the music going again and many couples, including Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were waltzing. Though he hadn't danced in any manner since the Yule Ball, he managed to recreate a passing attempt at the waltz, rewarded with surprisingly patient laughs when he missed a step and nearly toppled them both into someone beside them which could at any point have been Ron and Hermione, Bill and Fleur or Minerva McGonagall and Horace Slughorn who was, himself, very much into the drink. Harry's heart ached when he found himself for half a second looking for Tonks and Lupin, only to remember that their son lay in bed without any idea that his parents were gone.

Almost as if they had read his mind, Ginny tugged him insistently away from the fire, toward a tall woman who even in this dying light resembled her now deceased sister intensely. Andromeda Tonks was waiting well away from the revelry, with a bundle in her arms that he knew was the recently born Teddy Lupin. He matched eyes with the woman, hoping that his drunken visage could pose the question over the noise, which young Teddy seemed to visibly dislike. When she nodded he approached with surprising carefulness and clear-headedness. He was gazing curiously down into the currently brunette child's fussy face, trying to spot his father or mother in it when Andromeda lightly shoved the child into his arms.

Teddy's small eyes opened, bright blue for a moment and then an emerald that reminded Harry of those he saw in the mirror. Those eyes locked on his and Harry felt overwhelmed again as he held the child close to him, allowing Ginny to shift one of his arms under Teddy without a bit of guilt. The party was still there and was almost a pleasant background as the upset boy visibly calmed, watching him. Harry grinned down at the child and lightly bounced his arms as he stepped slightly closer to Andromeda and turned the child toward her and him both.

"Alright, Cub," Harry called, though he knew the child wouldn't hear or understand him. "You've got your grandmother and she'll do amazing with you." He turned to the eldest Black sister. "But you've always got me and everyone in my family. Everyone in your family." Andromeda, for all her airs and her defensiveness when last he met her, was openly touched by his words, and awkwardly attempted a one-armed embrace of him. He didn't mind though, life was awkward. That was living. He was allowed to hold his godson for a full minute more before Ginny and then Hermione took over in turn. When he became upset again at the noise, Andromeda eventually departed, but not before slipping Harry a piece of paper. He put it into his pocket, preferring to open it in private when his head was cleared.

Bill shoving a glass of firewhiskey into his hand did little to bolster that. Ginny apparently wandered off to be with her mother and father because the next time Harry really came to his senses, he, Ron and Hermione were lost together in the ever dwindling crowd of dancers around the fire, which someone had seen fit to feed and make larger and warmer. The music was just slightly quieter, quiet enough he could lean forward and tell Hermione she would have to teach him something about children because he wanted to have his Godson over to Grimmauld Place as soon as possible for an evening.

Hagrid, holding Fang as if he were as light as a bowtruckle was lightly dancing to the music a ways away, singing along with the lyrics which Harry did not know and could not understand, plied as he was with 'congratulatory drinks.' It did Harry's heart well to see it and he knew he would have plenty of long talks with Hagrid in the days and weeks to come.

As the sun began to rise again, he found himself lying in the grass like one of any number of partygoers who were winding down. Ron and Hermione were on his right, Ginny, George, Luna, Bill and Gabrielle lay to his left, the latter two apparently too tired to hunt down Fleur and the Delacours. He and Ron were speaking freely of things Harry had wondered would ever be spoken about again, about the Chamber of Secrets, about the locket, about Ron fishing Harry and Gryffindor's sword out of the pond and about Severus Snape. The last was a subject that made the others fall silent but Harry spat vehemently that he thought Snape was a hero. Hermione looked uncomfortable at the assertion, but something within Harry was rabidly sure of it. He flexed his numb legs and his light head swam as he turned. His gaze toward Ginny.

"Then there's you lot," he called, a bit loudly in the quieting night. "Dumbledore's Army, sticking it to the Carrows!" Somewhere nearby yet another such group of lounging partygoers echoed a roar of 'Dumbledore's Army!' and Harry thought he heard Neville's voice among them. "Bloody heroes yourselves, every one of you."

"Yeah, yeah, blimey Harry, you're a lush," called Neville from nearby, again.

"I'm alive," he yelled back. "I'm bloody-well alive. We're alive!" With that, with energy he didn't know he had, he got his shaky numb legs under him and stood up. Surveying the field, he saw maybe twenty or so people sitting around the tables outside the gate, apparently blatantly listening in on their conversation. Another thirty people could be counted lying about the field as he had been, some wholly unconscious. "That's the heart of it, isn't it? That's why we've got people drinking, eating, laughing and dancing instead of sitting in a dark room feeling as bad as anyone here has a right to feel."

"Harry," someone called, coaxingly from the group who he had just stood up and taken a shaky step away from.

"Do not pity the dead," he said, in a passable imitation of Dumbledore, whether the conversation had ever been real or not. "Pity the living and above all pity those who live without love. Well tonight I've run around with my friends and family. No one here shares any blood with me, but how does that make any of you not my family? I don't know about you all, but I think those who've died would have wanted this. I love everyone here so much, and I can see everyone here loves each other as well. That's what set every one of us apart from Voldemort, made us stronger than he and those that followed him." He stumbled slightly as he wavered backward, but found himself unable to stop talking until he got the statement out. "We're out here, people, because we won. Even those who aren't with us right now, those who we'll have to bury... they won too. They're here with us. Every last one of them."

For a moment he remembered his parents, Lupin and Sirius in the forest and the person they walked with seemed so far away... but so lucky and gifted, despite walking to his death.

"Thank you, everyone." Whatever he had planned to say to wrap up this impromptu speech which he now felt the embarrassment of in his colored cheeks, this wasn't it. He felt tears welling up and didn't bother to hold them back Harry's blurry gaze moved down at his friends, but only saw Ginny. Reaching out a hand to her, he thought to bring her to her feet, maybe just to kiss her, maybe to dance or to go join the people at the table... anything to stop crying because it felt like it was going to never end. She didn't take his hand but did stand up and after a moment so too did Hermione and Ron.

"Alright, alright mate," Ron managed awkwardly as he and Ginny patted Harry on the back. "No more to drink, right?" As that managed to reach him through the tears, Harry laughed while nodding an agreement. "Good on you, know when you've hit your limit." Ron's advice was accompanied by the redhead taking a swig of firewhiskey from a bottle Bill had just tossed up from the grass beside him. Hermione's reproachful smack on Ron's shoulder was a bit off target, letting Harry in on the secret that she had indulged more than a little herself.

"Alright," Ginny said. "Here or Grimmauld Place?" He tilted his head curiously. Somehow he hadn't even considered leaving even with his eyelids growing heavy once more. Much less the implication that Ginny was going to come with him. Was that how it was going to be finally? A life with Ginny? Would they live together? Would she be there to share his mornings, days, evenings, laughter and tears, pain and pleasure, good and bad? Would they console each other after nightmares that it was inevitable would keep hold of them for years? It was too late, too late by far to be thinking about things like that.

"If I promise not to drink anymore, can we just stay here?" he swept a hand over the crowd. The nearly-asleep quarter-Veela and her Weasley brother-in-law were sharing some joke which judging by Bill's gestures was at Ron's expense. Neville, Luna, Dean, Seamus and the ever hard to understand Zacharias Smith were a ways away, apparently joining Hagrid in a drinking song of some sort, though Luna was underage. Ernie Macmillian, Professor McGonagall and Mr. Weasley were sitting at the closest end of the table, apparently having turned away from Harry after he broke down and were listening to Charlie talking about the time Norberta the Dragon had nearly mauled someone during an escape attempt. Fleur and Mrs. Weasley seemed to be entertaining others, whose faces Harry couldn't make out down at the other end of the long line of tables. It was a patchwork family, all of them hurt, injured or broken and it had a lot of strained ties within its ranks but this was **his** family and that was all that Harry wanted that night. "Won't be the first time- hic- I've slept outside."

"You lot!" Harry spun back toward the row of tables to see that Mr. Weasley was beckoning them over. Hardly able to stand himself, Harry reached down and helped Bill to his feet, willing to admit that the only reason he wasn't falling down was Ron's heavy weight counterbalancing him by holding onto his left arm. Bill, apparently in far greater control than Harry helped Gabrielle to her feet. She seemed to be more open, happier. Perhaps being included in the adults' party long after her bedtime had come allowed her to open up around Harry but he was happy to ruffle her hair when as they were walking back toward Arthur Weasley, he was thanked by her for saving her from the Grindylows.

Ginny pulled an exasperated face but he responded to it by merely taking both Gabrielle and Ginny's hands and playfully pulling them ahead toward the table. In the end the redhead smiled as well and pried both of them free of Harry's grasp, taken Gabrielle's hand herself and leading her off ahead of Harry, who realized after taking one off kilter step that he could not give chase. Mr. Weasley shared happily the news of a promotion ("Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, just until we hold proper elections for the Minister, then I'll be heading up the Department for Muggle Welfare. Voldemort set it up to control them, but not anymore,") before Mrs. Weasley dragged Harry and Ron by the ears toward the other end of the table, trying not to laugh herself at their poor attempts at somberness before forcefully dunking each of their heads into a water barrel.

Harry came up shivering, hooting and sputtering out a mouthful of the water. He had just enough time to watch a chuckling Bill be pushed by Madame and Gabrielle Delacour into his mother's waiting grasp, to be dunked after Ron had gotten out of the way of a barrel.

"Sober up, you lot," Mrs. Weasley called. "And that goes for everyone! I've got some water waiting for each of you." As it turns out she did not mean the barrels either. A dripping Bill momentarily frustrated his wife by placing a kiss on her cheek and soaking her with a canine-like shake of his long, sopping hair before dragging both Harry and Ron to the table, shoving full jugs of water into their hands. George stumbled forward from where Harry knew not and produced a couple of vials, each of which he emptied into one of the tin jugs.

"Trust me, mate. You've drank a whole hell of a lot. If you want to avoid the consequences, down it all. That potion should help for what's already worked its way a bit too far in, but you need to keep up the fluids." Mr. Weasley was counseling not as a father but as an equal in the moment, so that Harry felt a bit of pride in his chest as the man stepped away from Bill, George, Ron and he.

"To Dumbledore?" Ron said, raising his jug, liquid sloshing down his arm.

"And to Fred," Harry replied. "And all the others, too."

"Cheers," chimed a third voice whose owner Harry didn't look to see. Too much of the jug soaked the shirt that Kreacher had made for him, emblazoned with the Black and Potter family crests.

Before the sun had fully risen, Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny had found themselves sitting and then laying out beside the dying embers of the bonfire alongside Bill and Fleur, Charlie, George, Neville and Luna, who Harry learned had not yet seen her father but was having trouble accepting that his betrayal of Harry had been anything other than a vicious attack by the nargles. In the distance, some of the partygoers had gotten a second wind and moved off farther away from the house. Harry respected and admired their stamina, but assumed many of them had passed out hours ago and were just now waking.

He let the cool morning, the soft hand in his and the softer chatter of a small group of people who had been through much lure him to sleep.


	2. Like a Prayer

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and all associated entities who have a stake and claim in the franchise. I do not, make no money off of this and wouldn't seek to.

* * *

**Chapter Two: _Like a Prayer_**

The safest thing that Harry could say when the jet of cold water slammed into his face was "Bloody Hell!" He sat up instinctively and so quick that he found himself on his feet, looking around for the source of the attack. Hermione had already moved past him, to perform the very same act of utmost cruelty on Ron. Dislodging his glasses he rubbed at his face, unable to entirely restrain a rude phrase. As his heart rate apparently got the message that he wasn't actually in any danger, he took check of the rest of his faculties. His stomach churned and threatened to double him over at any moment but the telltale headache of a hard night's drinking—not that he had prior experience on the issue personally—was nowhere to be found, bless George's heart.

Cruelly the sun hung as high in the sky as it was going to that day when Ron gave a cry of distress and mimicked Harry in his reaction, though in his effort to stand he managed to upend himself, nearly falling atop Neville, who had clearly just had some sort of potion and was clutching his skull, holding it between his knees and occasionally appealing to a muggle deity for relief. Harry might have laughed at the situation except that there were one too few redheads around him.

"Ginny off rousing everyone else?" he asked, attempting to keep any worry out of his voice. He wasn't even sure why it was that he was worried to begin with. Hermione apparently thought little of the question and responded, talking over Ron who was still swearing as he stood.

"I think she went to help Mrs. Weasley… they're making preparations. Go inside, there's someone here to see you." Harry was going to ask what she meant by that but the small argument that broke out between Ron and Hermione forced him to stretch his legs and try to head toward the house, as tall as ever and still held up mostly by magic. Much like he had after the battle, Harry marveled again at the ease with which he regarded this place as home. He opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. Two worlds collided in harsh ways that had him literally reeling on his feet. As Harry had expected to find Ginny and Mrs. Weasley making or eating breakfast or perhaps cleaning up after the party last night, the last thing he expected was to see a most out of place muggle sitting opposite of Ginny, eager like a hungry child as he tucked into a plate of bacon and eggs.

Ginny, for her part, noticed Harry before he could even formulate a proper question about his cousin sitting in kitchen at The Burrow. If his stomach had been upset before it positively lurched now. Someone noticed his discomfort, because after a moment he had been steered into a seat beside Dudley by Mrs. Weasley, an act which alerted the muggle to his presence for the first time. He heard Molly immediately begin lecturing against drinking in excess but in this instance she had misread his discomfort. The only thing that could have struck Harry as more wrong than Dudley eating breakfast with Ginny would be his Aunt and Uncle having brunch with McGonagall. A clatter signified that Dudley had momentarily stopped eating, an opportunity Molly took to refill his plate and set one down in front of Harry.

"Hello," his cousin started, great shaggy blonde head turned toward him.

"What's brought you 'round?" Harry asked, a strangely light-headed feeling reaching out to him as he tried to smile at Ginny or at Mrs. Weasley in thanks. Clearly thinking him ill, both of the Weasleys just answered his attempt at a smile with a worried glance at each other. "Vernon and Petunia alright?" He had never dared to call his aunt and uncle by name but a lot of things had changed since he sealed Dumbledore back in his tomb. Such a short time ago, but a lifetime away.

"Yeah they are, only…"

"Only what?" Harry asked, again raking his eyes over to the two Weasleys. There was no tell on their faces to give him any forewarning as to what was coming.

"They say you're not allowed to come back." The-Boy-Who-Lived felt strangely relieved as he snorted and found himself free enough to relax in his chair. "I wanted to actually thank you, though."

"For the Dementors?" he queried. "Don't mention it, it was nothing." It really had been nothing.

"No," the boy murmured. Instead of clarifying, he attacked a strip of bacon with such ferocity that Harry had to wonder if it had insulted him in some way. During the strained silence that fell over the kitchen only the sound of clinking dishes in the sink could be heard, though rhythmically so that Harry eventually got curious and turned his eyes toward Mrs. Weasley to see her wand repeating the same movements over and over again as she looked pointedly away from the table, trying, clearly, to appear as if she wasn't listening. With her ruse discovered she allowed the pots to drop back into the sink and excused herself. "While we were in hiding, that Diggle man, he told me a lot of things I didn't know… about your lot." Dudley cleared his throat loudly, "about you… and what that newspaper was saying about you before everything went wrong."

_I'm beginning to feel lightheaded again, _Harry mused with no small amount of dread.

"Thank you. They're not letting us come home yet but they let me come here and… weird things have been happening all over the country. Dad said that's what it was like the day they brought you to live with us. Diggle said it's because they're celebrating, the w-wizards. You got rid of him, right? The man who wanted to kill you?" Now Harry looked pointedly at Ginny, who held up her hands as if to say she would have no part in the discussion. He had a few things he wanted to say in reply but instead he looked his cousin in the eye and nodded once, unmistakably. For once, Dudley seemed to take in the gravity of the moment and there was another long pause, longer than the first before he muttered a second thanks.

"Right," Ginny said, as if she had suddenly come to life. "You left some of your clothes and the rest of your stuff up in Ron's room. Go get dressed and get a bath. You smell like you're sweating firewhiskey." Harry didn't have to put any particular effort into checking, he reeked of the stuff. "Hermione wants to talk to you and Ron after you guys get dressed… Mum does too." She stood up and when Harry tried to read her he saw a distance in how she looked back at him. Whatever closeness the day and night before had brought them seemed to have vanished. "I imagine you two will go with Hermione," Ginny continued, dropping her plate into the sink and looking determinedly away. "But I've got to stay behind and help with the preparations." Again, the ambiguous phrase came and Harry got the distinct impression that asking what she meant was not only dangerous but stupid. So he shut up and only nodded.

"G-" he caught himself, remembering who was in the room with them, oblivious to the tension in the air as he scarfed down Molly Weasley's home cooking. "Thank you," he said, instead. That got a reaction of some sort out of her but Ginny still hurried from the room without another word. Dudley, on the other hand, managed to pause between gulps of pumpkin juice, something he had never before tasted to Harry's knowledge, long enough to make Harry more nervous.

"Don't know what you did to get her all hot and bothered, but she's scary. Don't recommend doing it again."

"She's sort of my girlfriend," Harry admitted, surprised to talk to Dudley about anything so mundane and at the same time meaningful. "'least I think. I think I remember most of last night, but maybe I did do something." Dudley gave a nod that was all too damn sage for the cousin Harry remembered. "Going to be here long?"

"Nah, Mum and Dad were furious I left, said they expect me back. Someone's coming to get me in a few minutes," Dudley seemed to remember a purpose to his visit and reached into his pocket, pulling out an envelope that reminded Harry of the one already in his pocket, though this was very much muggle, normal and most certainly not from the legal guardian of his godson. "It's something I had to write for a program I'm doing. Don't have to read it, but I wrote our address on the front, the one we're at now. Diggle said your messages could get to me if you decided to write."

Quietly, Harry contemplated the envelope and what it might mean. He had a fair guess, but it was still with some trepidation that he pocketed it.

"She's right," Dudley said, quietly. "Definitely smell like whiskey." Harry smiled at the statement but in the end stayed frozen for a couple of minutes, trying to think up a reply that was both ambiguous and enough t satisfy some mostly imagined social obligation. Feeling petty, Harry exhaled.

"I'll read it when I get time. I've got a letter to read that I suspect is about getting to see my godson. I've barely stopped moving since Voldemort died … two days ago?" Harry was a bit put off that he wasn't sure, the long sleep the day before and then the party almost obscured it. It was the second day after Voldemort. "And to be honest there's a lot to d-" Harry's voice caught in his throat as he realized what preparations Ginny was helping his mother with. Shame flooded him, enough that Dudley noticed the change in his face and looked quite as disturbed as Ron when Harry had lost it in Gryffindor Tower. Fred needed a funeral. Burning red, Harry stood up from the table and left the room.

The path up to Ron's room was tread by feet that weren't his own. Clean oversized clothing was removed by foreign hands and a stranger's eyes saw right through Ginny as she came out of her room and he made his way toward the bathroom. How could he have been so daft? Drinking, dancing, screaming, telling stories, babbling on like some sort of great prat and all the while the Weasleys were mourning Fred like he should have been, Fred who had protected him for years on the Quidditch field, who had been grateful for his donation to the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes, Fred who had stuck up for him, fought for him, fought alongside him, died fighting Voldemort. Of course he could wander about the field, into the house and act like things should have been like they were yesterday: he wasn't living in reality, he had been stuck in that field, in front of that fire, not thinking about burying his sibling or son.

Harry managed to shut the door behind him and strip down before he saw Andromeda's letter sticking out of his pants' pocket. Leaning back against the door, feeling the cool wood sooth his body, he wondered whether he even ought to bother, even deserved it and then had to mentally kick himself for being so self-absorbed again. He pulled the envelope free and emptied the contents into his hand, unfolding the strip of parchment quickly.

_Harry Potter, _

_My daughter and my son-in-law held you in high regard. There were days toward the end of Lord Voldemort's rule where I, on the other hand, hated and loathed you. My husband was dead and you were nowhere to be found. Yet every day my daughter and her husband argued me down and in the end they were right. The fight took their life but I have to assure you that I did not let that slow me down. I know where you're going to be in a few hours, or at least are most likely to appear so let me tell you what I have done in the meantime. I hunted down person after person, student, parent, teacher, order member or ministry official and I can piece together enough of the fight to know that while you were not on the front lines you were doing something of great importance. They say you not only fought Lord Voldemort in the end but figured out why he didn't die seventeen years ago and fixed it. They also say you offered your life to spare everyone else another fight. _

_That's how my husband died, did you know? He tried to save the people he was traveling with. So how could I deny that my daughter and son-in-law could be right about a person who did exactly what Ted did? I have cried for them for hours and I have considered whether it is in me to keep going. At the crux of the matter is whether I am yet needed. I have one relative left to me, my grandson and by him I am needed. If they hadn't wanted you to be a large part of his life, Remus and Nymphadora would not have named you godfather. In the event that I can no longer care for him, I will charge you as they did: take care of Teddy. _

_In the meantime I want you to see him often. Please owl me soon, for more than just that reason. While I can organize the funeral for them both, I want you to speak at it. I think they would both appreciate their families and friends coming together and you saying something. I know that it is a lot to ask of you but I ask it of you because Remus would have. _

_Andromeda Tonks_

When Harry—feeling less like he deserved nothing more than to leave the house and not come back—came back down stairs, he looked for Ginny or Mrs. Weasley immediately. Before he could get through to the kitchen to look there or in the garden or yard, he was met with the site of Ron and Hermione waiting in the sitting room. Hermione stopped him with a look, her face contorted with worry.

"Alright, Harry?" Harry contemplated an answer and settled on a noncommittal tilt of the head. "Listen, I've been thinking…" he leaned slightly against the back of the couch they sat on, waiting. "I reckon it's safe to go get Mum and Dad. Sure, there are Death Eaters everywhere but they've gone back into hiding. There hasn't been a muggle attack since before the Battle of Hogwarts and a lot of the missing people are turning back up. I kept tracks on them until I came to The Burrow last year, I know they're living in Brisbane. I think I know the address. I wanted to know if you guys would come." He looked down at the envelope clutched in his hand and toward the part of the downstairs he had yet to search for Ginny or Mrs. Weasley in and then back at his friends.

"I see," she said, sounding less offended than he thought she would. "Would it change your mind if I said we'd be back by morning?" Harry released a sigh that he hoped conveyed relief.

"Absolutely, mate," Ron replied, a crooked smile trying to push its way onto his face. "I know what you're worried about. I've got to help too."

"Andromeda Tonks wants me to talk at Tonks and Lupin's funeral. Just the one funeral for them both." Harry waited for any sort of response that might help him, but in the end all that happened was that Ron got up and headed toward the stairs.

"Sorts it then, doesn't it? I'll get a bath and we'll take off fast."

Harry left the sitting room without answering and walked into the kitchen. It was utterly deserted, but as he glanced around it he realized he didn't want to see either Ginny or Mrs. Weasley. Ron and Hermione hadn't understood as much as they thought they had. They didn't see the guilt pulsing with each beat of his heart. He raised his wand and pointed it toward the sink but halfway through trying to speak the spell, he gave up. He pocketed his wand and rolled up his sleeves before setting to work on the dishes. As he cleaned, he kept his eyes focused on his work. It didn't stop him from hearing footsteps approach.

"Harry?" he turned his head halfway around and nodded a quick greeting to Hermione. "Are you alright?"

"Of course I am," he replied, trying to sound lighthearted. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, but somehow I don't believe you."

'That's fine."

The cleaning went faster when Hermione began to dry each dish as he finished cleaning them. He didn't protest and simply kept going so that when the sink was empty and the counters had been cleared of dirty dishes and Ron had made his appearance known, Harry was scrubbing the counters clean of any dirt. He hadn't done this for Mrs. Weasley before and it seemed mighty ungrateful of a realization. Then again, she wouldn't have stood for it. He didn't stop and turn around until he was sufficiently satisfied, but at that point Hermione was clearly set to go. Whatever her suspicions about his state, he was happy to see she was more focused on the concept of starting the journey.

"Side-along?" he asked her, convinced her parents' hideout was hardly connected to the international floo, especially since it had mostly been cut off from England by the Death Eaters in the months following their takeover of the Ministry. In response she held out a hand to either Harry or Ron and Harry felt a momentary disappointment at not seeing Ginny before he left but took the proffered hand anyway. What followed was the longest experience Harry had ever had with Apparation. His whole body had felt subpar to match his spirits when they were standing in The Burrow.

The twist and turn, squeeze and pull of the Side-along Apparation was agonizing and Harry felt himself wondering at the intelligence of the act after the journey ended and he felt himself on solid land. Who would put themselves through pain just to cut travel time so drastically? Sure it wasn't torture and it was by far nowhere near as painful as even a second of the Cruciatus Curse but it certainly hurt. Apparating by one's self was so much simpler, too. He imagined he could, if he focused, make the trip back to The Burrow alone and resolved to do so. Though even as Hermione turned around, facing opposite of where he and Ron were looking dazedly, Harry had a pretty good guess he wasn't going back with them that night.

When they realized they were looking the wrong direction, Harry and Ron turned themselves around and watched Hermione start up the path to a large muggle dwelling after taking a moment to survey their surroundings. With a quick look between each other, they fell into line just behind her. Where they had just come from it was late afternoon, nearing evening. Yet, here children were running around playing, all of them somehow oblivious to the appearance of the three foreigners from nowhere. Harry was watching a pair of boys chase each other across the street playfully out of the corner of his eye and wondered that even for the muggles Voldemort's terror hadn't reached this far. It was dumbfounding to him that the Wizarding World within each country and continent was so disconnected from its neighbors. If a muggle tyrant had started a war in England, its allies would have been chomping at the bits to come to its aid.

Not so, here.

Harry was curious, for a moment, when Hermione stopped and knocked on the door only to find it open almost immediately. There, standing in the doorway were Mr. and Mrs. Granger, he with his jacket half on and a piece of toast in his mouth, she with car keys hanging from her right hand, clearly they were both about to leave for work. They glanced at one another for a moment and then, coughing and looking embarrassed, Mr. Granger spat his toast out.

"May we help you, miss?" Harry understood the slight shake Hermione gave. While the Grangers had maintained their accents completely, they had taken on another name, forgotten their lives and their daughter. Now they spoke to her as a stranger, though certainly kindly despite the apparent rush they were in.

"Could my friends and I come in? There's something important we have to tell you, it's about a substantial financial windfall." The couple glanced at each other in confusion, apparently off put by running into another person from their home country. Harry was beginning to grow worried when Mr. Granger began to make a noise as if unsure but Hermione cut across him, in a dull voice.

"You are the lock." At once, they seemed to calm. Only it was more than that. He had seen a similar look before on the face of a Death Eater and a Goblin.

"Are they Imperiused?" he asked, concerned.

"Of course not," Hermione replied with a scandalized tone. "I thought the memory charm wouldn't be enough so I may have used their state afterwards to… hypnotize them." When Ron started to ask for an explanation, Hermione spoke over him as she had her father.

"Let us in, please, we really need to talk to you."

"Well," Mr. Granger said, in what sounded like a poor imitation of his earlier rush, "I reckon it couldn't hurt." They barely managed to close the door before an antsy Hermione snapped her fingers. Like a pair of dogs who had been conditioned to react to the sound for a treat, both Mr. and Mrs. Granger turned their heads toward her, full attention being placed on their daughter, whose wand aimed at first one and then the other.

_"Invenire!" _Harry found himself wondering how all of those healers at St. Mungos could fail to fix Lockhart's addled mind but no sooner had the spell left Hermione's mouth than her mother's eyes widened and filled with tears. The reaction took no longer in Mr. Granger and Harry stepped back, watching a reunion where all parties tried to speak but not one person managed to either complete a word or even make a sound that was anything but grief. It was painful, talked of loss and hurt and strangely a bit of hope. Harry realized as he watched that this was yet another thing that should invoke some sort of more powerful reaction. After all, he knew on some level that he was very happy for Hermione: her pain had been obvious to him throughout the whole fight. Yet as he watched, Harry saw Ron comforting her when her parents finally let go and he, Harry stood a few steps behind them all as Hermione tried to fill them in, standing there in the entrance way and finding it hard to say the right things.

He was not surprised when the Grangers ushered the pair of them into the sitting room and no one noticed him, set back against the wall. This was a huge, very important moment for Hermione and her parents. To Ron's credit, the redhead reappeared around the corner after only a minute and that was the point when he heard Hermione say his name, almost regretfully.

"Hey, we did what we came to do, right?" Harry asked rhetorically as Ron raised a quizzical eyebrow. "I'm here for moral support, of course but I don't think you two really need me." He caught Ron's eyes pointedly. "Seems to me Hermione needs you and you might want to spend some time with her parents, right?" Harry was relieved at Ron's beaming smile.

"Good idea… I reckon they liked me well enough before, but… what about you?"

"I'll be fine," Harry said. "Not me she needs, go on." There were some things maybe it was important he wasn't a part of. Ron didn't really try to protest but he stared for several seconds until Harry gestured back toward the sitting room, where Hermione was now calling for both of them. "Tell her I'm sorry, something came up, alright?" Ron looked less pleased about the idea than he had a moment ago but didn't protest. Harry took that as acquiescence and turned on the spot. For just a half second too long, he lost focus and turned into the Apparation aimless. Not feeling any pain beyond the compartively light discomfort of solo Apparation, Harry could only reassure himself he hadn't been splinched and try to get to Grimmauld Place. He made the mistake, though, of landing in the center outside of the house, something which under normal days would have gone unnoticed.

A normal day hadn't been seen in a long time. Harry slammed hard into someone as soon as he landed and barely managed to stay standing as he turned around to see if he had bumped into some poor muggle and startled them. He had not. Flashbulbs went off in his face, voices began jabbering at once and he felt hands on him. Every part of his body tensed, the grabbing felt like an attempt at restraint and that was something he wasn't prepared to put up with. Harry shrugged several hands off of himself and for half a second considered asking them what he would have to do to earn a bit of privacy. There was no doubt that the people in the crowd were reporters and well-wishers which was all well and good but if Harry wanted to say a word to any of them he was perfectly capable of hunting them down himself. Some of them, he saw with disgust were people he would never choose to spend time with.

The long curly blonde hair of Rita Skeeter was enough motivation for Harry to give up the mad urge to ask these people for privacy and cause him to turn and run from the square, toward Number 12 Grimmauld Place. To any muggle neighbors this crowd seemed to be staring at absolutely nothing. All of the assembled mob, shouting questions at him at once, though, watched Harry disappear into his home post-haste and no doubt would get close to knock and insist he come out. There were still a few wards on the house, yet and they were specifically designed not to care much for cameras.

For the first minute and a half after Harry had shut his door behind him, he heard knocking, pleading through the wood but quite quickly as reporters and photographers realized their equipment had inexplicably failed them they gave up. Kreacher was nearly at his side before Harry, in his semi-panicked, semi-enraged state noticed the elf.

"Master Harry?" the elf asked, gazing up at him with concern like he had seen too many times that day. "Can Kreacher help?" Harry shook his head no but didn't answer verbally as he waited and counted a full minute of silence from the crowd outside. Relieved, he straightened himself up. "Do you know where there might be a bit of ink and parchment here?" he asked the elf, really coming to be conscientious of phrasing things in ways that could be seen as orders. Harry had come to agree with Hermione that the way that elves were controlled was not just inhumane but terrifying. It surprised him how many good people didn't understand it, either. Then again, he had needed nearly three years and some significant interaction with house elves to come to the realization himself.

It was easy when one was cozy, safe, sheltered not to see these things. He felt guilty enough that he rubbed at his temples.

"Kreacher… I," he sighed.

"Kreacher can fetch them for Master Harry. He knows where they are."

"Please, Kreacher? You'd be doing me a big favor. I'm going up to bed, I'll write my letters there."

"Would Master like Kreacher to deliver them for him?" Harry was momentarily confused at the suggestion but the fact was that he had no other option. Hedwig's loss struck anew and apparently seeing or sensing the emotion, Kreacher grew distressed, eyes darting around in a look Harry had come to recognize as the precursor to a self-administered punishment.

"Yes, yes, Kreacher," Harry replied, eager to soothe the elf's unease. "I'd really appreciate that." It felt pathetic, it felt like a cop out, but if he tried to sit the elf down and talk about freeing him, who knew what Kreacher would do. Kreacher was not Dobby and did not take to the concept of a free and paid elf with the same appreciation. Harry had a feeling the two elves had frequently been at odds because of it. But Dumbledore had offered Dobby pay, had offered pay to all of Hogwarts' elves, none of whom, beyond Dobby, had accepted. Perhaps pay… or compensation was a place to start. "And when I wake up we need to talk about you sleeping where you do. It's not a place worthy of you. For tonight, if you wish, you can sleep in Regulus' room." The elf seemed to take no pleasure in the idea, which caused Harry to hurriedly add: "But only if you want. I just can't imagine that where you sleep now is very comfortable."

When Kreacher gave a bow in complete silence and hurried off into a sitting room, Harry sighed in defeat and trekked up to the master bedroom where he had last lain into the late hours of the afternoon with Ginny. Now thinking of her made him feel remorseful. He pried off his trainers and sat his wand down on the table beside the bed. He managed to dislodge himself from the oversized shirt and settle back onto the bed before Kreacher appeared with a look of eagerness on his face… eagerness to please. Harry had scared him.

"Thank you, Kreacher."

"When Master is done, he can leave them on the table beside the bed. Kreacher will come and get them after Master has gone to sleep and have them delivered before Master wakes." Harry wondered if the elf knew that, despite having only recently woken, the two or three hours had felt like a decade, leaving Harry craving just the sleep the elf was suggesting. Then he wondered just how Kreacher could know that. Hermione would probably know and he might ask her if she didn't take his coming home early too harshly. As he settled back and tried to compose his letter to Andromeda, Harry had less and less of an idea as to his reasons behind leaving them there in Australia.

_They didn't need me and I wasn't necessary, _he reminded himself, firmly, trying for the third time to finish writing 'Andromeda.' _It's that simple. Besides, I need to start preparations of my own. _Harry ticked off things in his head he had to do: see Teddy, talk to Andromeda, help her with Remus and Tonks' funeral, apologize to Ginny if she would bother to talk to him, try to help with Fred's funeral, contact Griphook and try to arrange a meeting, find out if Luna had found Xenophilius Lovegood yet and… the list went on and on. There were so many loose ends to tie up before….

_Before what? Nothing is coming, not now. It's all over. _

"Well, near enough," he answered himself, aloud.


	3. All in All

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and all associated entities who have a stake and claim in the franchise. I do not, make no money off of this and wouldn't seek to.

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**Chapter Three: _All in all  
_**

Harry stirred at the sound of a small screech, turning over in his bed and raising his eyes to the cage in the far corner of the room. In it, Moros, a larger than average scops owl looked to be just settling back in. A quick glance at the window showed the half-drawn curtains still rustling from the owl's return and that it was later than he had ever imagined it would be when he finally got a response. Wondering if Moros had encountered difficulty in finding the target of his letter, Harry sleepily roused himself just enough to get up from beneath the dark covers and pad across the thick carpet to the open cage. He waited patiently for the clearly tired bird to drink to his heart's content and then took the letter lightly tied to his leg.

Normally, Harry would toss the owl a treat but the first time he had tried this, Moros had stared disdainfully at it. Maybe time would change his tastes, but Harry decided on a middle ground by leaving the owl's cage open at night. He was, however, allowed to lightly caress the bird as he might have Hedwig and even rewarded with not being snapped at.

"Good job," Harry said, raising the letter appreciatively before heading back toward the bed and fishing around on the table for his glasses. Two letters from Andromeda and two unopened letters—one from Ginny and the other from Hermione—waited on the table to be joined by the harshly written response Harry had just received from Griphook, who was apparently able to forget his own treachery but not Harry's.

_Wizards' loyalties are fickle so why should not their attempt at humbling themselves be? If you are so noble, Harry Potter, then I will meet you a year from today in the main hall of Gringotts Bank. _

When he managed to finish reading all six paragraphs of abuse, Harry did indeed add the crumpled up letter to the pile beside his bed. Already, Kreacher had taken to watching very closely for incoming letters and several bags worth of mail that Harry had no intention of reading filled Sirius' old bedroom. To his credit, Kreacher had been talked into—after several hours of argument—sleeping in Regulus' room though he had not yet been convinced that the bed or indeed the room itself was his. Harry had spotted the house elf coming out of Regulus' closet the morning prior.

He glanced at his watch and read that morning was fast approaching. The morning, he reminded himself, of Day Four After Voldemort. Harry, who did not get the Prophet realized that he had no idea what day of the week it was though he had a fair guess that it was the month of May or very nearly so. He also knew that today, Day Four After Voldemort he was expected for tea at Andromeda Tonks' home. While that left him a fair bit of time to sleep, Harry had done nothing except sleep since leaving Hermione and Ron in Brisbane, Australia except for a very uncomfortable scene in Diagon Alley where Harry was spotted exiting the long closed down Weasley Wizarding Wheezes and was overwhelmed by people on his way to Eeyelop's Owl Emporium. The ten minute trip ended up taking more than an hour as a result of very literally hiding in the defunct joke shop until the anxiety had passed enough that he could make an equally literal run for the emporium.

Harry was rather sure someone had been knocked over in his gambit to escape the crowds but the attention was so much worse than Harry had encountered before that he felt like he was lucky to have the courage to run forward instead of Apparating away and spending a week hiding in the Forest of Dean. To their credit, the witches working at Eeyelop's Owl Emporium had not only not bothered Harry (mostly) but they also locked down the store when he entered. Harry had been forced to endure an uncomfortable five minutes after purchasing his owl where he was thanked profusely by everyone (staff and customer alike) who was in the store when it was locked down but after that was given a small bit of Floo powder, allowing him to get home without facing the group of people who no doubt still waited outside the store or Grimmauld Place itself.

That had all occurred early in the morning of Day Three After Voldemort. To Kreacher's displeasure he hadn't eaten since his return and as Harry sat on the edge of his bed he tried to feel hungry but failed miserably. What he did feel was an overpowering urge to open the two unanswered letters that Pigwidgeon delivered around noon on Day Three After Voldemort. It occurred to Harry that that meant, for whatever reason, Hermione and her parents were at The Burrow. That, he tried to convince himself, was the reason that he chose to open up Hermione's letter and not Ginny's.

_Harry,_

_I'm not sure what happened today or why you left. Honestly, you have me a little worried and I'm not the only one. I'm not sure if you're aware of this but you're coming off as either rude or really distracted and everyone could really use a little reassurance that you're doing alright. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny are asking after you. Did something happen that upset you, Harry? Ron said you seemed a little put off. Write back and let us know you're alright. You really need to read Ginny's letter, too._

_Hermione_

Unusually short and characteristically succinct, Hermione succeeded with one paragraph where Griphook failed with six. Harry felt the same heavy guilt that had left him so happy to be leaving The Burrow originally. Hermione, he knew, was right. Having felt guilty about not realizing how much pain the Weasleys were in, Harry's response had been to run away instead of trying to help. Whether or not it was intended or taken as rude, that was exactly what it was. He liked to think that it wasn't like him to be so cowardly but to then run away from Hermione and Ron in Brisbane and spend most of a day hidden in his bed was starting to show a pattern.

_That what I am now? A coward?_

Harry opened his bedside table drawer and reached in. He felt his hand brush across the warm wood of his wand and then close around a corked inkwell. Leaning forward farther, he squinted into the dark drawer and managed to find and withdraw a roll of parchment and quill. Harry blew lightly on the candle atop the table, a small smile taking his face as it lit, rather the opposite of candles in the muggle world. Let it never be said that wizards were uninventive.

Silence settled over the room as, apparently satisfied by or exhausted by his day, Moros chose to sleep. That silence stretched out before Harry as he balanced the parchment on his knee, clutched the quill in his hand and the ink in it dried as he tried and failed to respond. Absentmindedly after a few moments he dipped the quill into the ink and then again turned his attention to trying to write. The old yellowed parchment remained unmarked so long that Harry had to dip his quill twice more before he gave up trying to write a proper response.

_Hermione,_

_I'm sorry. Tell everyone I'm sorry. _

_Harry_

Even upset as he was, upon rereading it Harry could immediately imagine just how alarming of a response it really was. There was no information in it at all and it might give off the wrong idea. That last thing that he needed was a Weasley-Granger search party banging on the door to Grimmauld Place and every building he had ever been associated with. The last thing he needed was to upset Hermione or Ron or Ginny even more.

_"Harry, I'm scared." _The grudging admission came back to his mind and in that second he saw Ginny standing opposite of him at the edge of the bed pouring out her deep fears to him, her confusion as to who she was. He also remembered his response, a gruff attempt at some sort of wisdom that made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Swearing loudly enough to wake Moros, Harry was sorely tempted to get out of bed and go find Ginny right then and there. What kind of a prat was he? Ginny had taken care of him how many times before then and since then?

_P.S.: Please let Mrs. Weasley know I'll be around The Burrow evening around seven or eight. I need to talk to her and a lot of people. I don't mean to upset anyone or come off as rude. _

Harry contemplated for a moment as he wrote Hermione's name on the envelope and decided that he would wait until sun-up to wake Moros. He had a feeling that Griphook hadn't been entirely kind to the owl and was content on letting him rest. Harry may not have known Moros for years as he had Hedwig but he found the bird as agreeable and perhaps the tiniest bit more affectionate. Then again, Harry wouldn't have enjoyed hearing about the goblin giving Hedwig or any other owl a hard time, either. To Harry's surprise, the sound of feathered wings flapping did manage to find its way into the room and though he was looking right at his sleeping pet, Harry still had a momentary crazy feeling that the owl had woken up.

It wasn't until the curtains ruffled open and a grey owl landed on his dresser that Harry turned toward the new arrival. This late at night most wizards or witches wouldn't have sent anything. Harry imagined it was much like muggles with a telephone call or the same thing that kept people from Apparating directly into someone's house without announcing themselves or being asked to. Courtesy. Still, Harry did not feel angry as he recognized the owl that frequently brought letters to Luna Lovegood at Hogwarts. He pulled the letter free of the owl's leg, receiving an appreciative noise in return and opened it.

Inside on simple card-stock was a notice that he had been signed up for a lifetime subscription to The Quibbler which was beginning production again in a week's time. Harry had done no such thing and was sufficiently confused until he turned it over and saw that the back had been written on by a shaky hand.

_This can in no way make up for what I've done but it is one way I have to start. Whenever it is convenient, please come and call. I would like to speak to you in person when the chance arises. _

Harry did not consider the sender of the message with the same disregard as he did Rita Skeeter but Xenophilius Lovegood was not only—like Skeeter—a journalist but had attempted to sell Harry, Ron and Hermione to Voldemort. The only reason that Harry knew eventually he would talk to—maybe even forgive—Mr. Lovegood was that his motivation was fear, not for himself but for his daughter. Also, no matter what else he had done, the Quibbler's editor-in-chief was the person to turn them on to the Deathly Hallows, leading Harry to understand both Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle well enough to accomplish what he had.

"No response," he told the bird who, far from looking affronted, immediately turned and shot out of the room. Perhaps it was more interested in a hunt than in delivery that evening. Harry added this card and envelope to the pile beside his bed and then more to soothe his sense of guilt than anything, put Ginny's unopened letter on top of the pile. Harry sat down on the bed but felt no urge to lay back and try to sleep, not with the myriad of topics dancing through his mind.

Harry thought of Nurmengard and the body that may have not yet been discovered. He thought of the pending funerals that must surely be within a day or two. That brought his eyes back to Ginny's letter. What if…? Anxiously, he took it in his hands and opened the envelope. The surprising amount of parchment within came out and Harry wondered whether he had it in him to read it.

_Harry,_

_I'm sorry you didn't make it back to The Burrow. Why didn't you? Did something happen? I want to talk to you. I don't know if you thought I was upset yesterday and I thought it would be obvious what was going on but Hermione has reminded me that you're "perfectly capable of being as thick as Ron." (Don't take it personally, she's upset.) I was helping my mother and father send out letters to the family, we're going to have Fred's funeral on Friday around noon. It would be sooner but there are so many funerals happening and a lot of Weasleys are still abroad. We don't even know how many may not have heard that Voldemort is gone yet. _

_I wish you were here, Harry. Not just for me but for Ron and George and Hermione too. Hermione tried to go home with her parents after you left her and Ron but someone had apparently found her house during the war. The roof is gone. They literally vanished the roof and everything in it is ruined. She wouldn't tell me anything else but Ron says someone painted 'mudblood' and a bunch of threats against her family all over the walls downstairs, destroyed the furniture and all of their neighbors are dead. It really upset the Grangers. Hermione never told them about any of it, Harry. I think they knew there was a wizard called 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' but Hermione never told them anything. They were really angry and by the time they came back to The Burrow (mum says it's because The Leaky Cauldron is full) Hermione was nearly in tears. I think they're talking it out in the sitting room right now, but you know mum. She's just run in there with tea and biscuits and I can hear her explaining to them how dangerous it was for muggles. _

_Ron's kept distracted with Hermione but George hasn't left his old room all day. I'm pretty worried about him. Dad would help but no one's seen him all day. His clock hand's jumped between work and traveling almost all day… except for a while it pointed at 'Mortal Danger.' Mum almost had a breakdown._

_Please write me, Harry. _

_Ginny_

Harry's response was far shorter, mostly because he wasn't sure how to answer most of what she said. Still, unlike with Hermione's letter, Harry knew what to say to some of it. Toward the end, though, he thought he was making excuses for himself.

_Ginny,_

_I'll be at The Burrow around seven or eight. I noticed that you didn't mention how you're feeling. I'm going around to Andromeda Tonks' place for tea and to see Teddy and help her with planning for Tonks' and Remus' funeral. If I'm done earlier I'll come by earlier, hopefully your mum and dad won't mind. I'm not sure why I'm doing some of the things I'm doing and I wish I could stop and do everything right. I'm sorry. _

_Harry_

Though he had competing urges to destroy and immediately send that response off, Harry sealed it away in an envelope and put it with the one written to Hermione and a letter he had written hours ago to Andromeda Tonks letting her know he was available any time she needed him to come by. After that, Harry sat. There was still, in this pile of mail, one letter that remained unopened. It was a simple, plain, muggle envelope that probably had muggle paper inside. The letter from Dudley was somehow far more terrifying than anything Ginny or Hermione could have written to him even if they both hated him. It was likely to remain buried there and Harry felt not a drop of guilt for it.

The consideration of that particular piece of mail left Harry convinced that he was in very desperate need for even more sleep, so he stripped off his shirt and pants—Harry had only left about three outfits at Grimmauld Place, so that every piece of clothing was particularly valuable—and returned to bed, allowing the cool night air to be broken only by the sheet pulled up to his neck. Intent on breaking at least one bad recent habit, Harry pulled his glasses off and sat them down. Before rolling onto his back again to rest, he took a second to replace the corked ink well, quill and parchment in the drawer, seeing his wand roll from beneath them before shutting it. It took ages, but Harry slept. As was the case every time before, Harry's sleep was interrupted many times by dreams intense enough to wake him but not to be remembered for long.

Harry landed on his feet with a grunt. Apparition hardly required a wand but not using one did tend to feel more uncertain. Still, as Harry brushed off the legs of his best tattered jeans, he looked up and saw that he had reached his destination. He had seen the Tonks' household from the outside once before but he had been panicked and running when it happened. Now, though, he had the time to see that it though it didn't look to be much larger than the cottage at Godric's Hollow, the outside was kept as finely manicured as Petunia had had him keep the yard on Privet Drive, if with a few added plants unlikely to be seen in a muggle garden. He approached at a far more leisurely pace than last time and watched the flowers lining the path, some of which seemed to turn to follow him. To Neville this garden would probably have been greatly appreciated. To Harry, it was pretty but unnerving. He stopped at the door, exhaling deeply and then raising his fist to rap three times, solidly on it.

Harry was more surprised than he should have been, perhaps to hear the door speak to him.

"Name yourself or be gone," it instructed him, coming from every inch of the wood but no single spot. The tone brokered no argument. "Or risk grave injury." Harry wondered if this was a holdover from defenses during the war and found his thoughts confirmed when, upon hearing his name, the door swung wide open as if someone had blasted it open and said, "Hurry in, it isn't safe!" Assuming the enchantment on the door simply was not aware of the end of the war, Harry stepped just into the entrance hall at a normal pace and attempted to greet Andromeda Tonks who had just stepped around the corner. His greeting, however, was lost as the door slammed harshly shut behind him.

"Sorry about that," she started, in an even tone. "You can't be too sure, not with what's going on out there." That was Harry's first and only clue that perhaps things had not returned as far to normal as he expected. Still, he paused where he stood and reached for a proper response. Upon finding none he simply tried to smile as if to pass the moment off.

"Before this goes any further, I need to ask you something." The woman's tone had changed entirely and for that matter her face had as well. The look on her face was not that far off form one he might have expected to see on her sister, Narcissa's. It was cool and determined but it remained aloof. "The first time you came to this house I got the impression you did not care for me. Whatever the source of that was, I'm wondering if it is something that can be put aside for Teddy's sake."

Furrowing his brow, Harry found himself honestly surprised. If their brief exchange at The Burrow a few short days ago had not been enough to dissuade her of the notion, it was definitely important he do so now.

"I don't mean to offend," Harry started, then corrected himself, "And I didn't mean to then, either. I was very disoriented, confused. When I saw you I thought I was seeing—"

"One of my sisters?" she asked, shrewdly. The cool look had melted a bit, though she did not look apologetic for her similarities to her sister, nor would Harry have asked her to.

"Bellatrix," he admitted, rooted completely to the spot. "It made me think of my Godfather. I am sorry."

"If that," Andromeda started, seeming to absentmindedly tuck a stray hair behind her ear, "Is all that we have between us then it is something easily overcome. I thought it might be more my relation to Bella that upset you. I can hardly blame you for a moment of dis—" However understanding she was being, Harry understood her breaking off at the sound of a cry. He tilted his head softly in the same direction she turned hers. "That would be your Godson, Mr. Potter, waking up from his nap. The kitchen is straight ahead, Teddy's room is upstairs, second door on the left. Would you be so kind?"

For a moment he didn't understand the question and imagined he quite looked like his cousin when confronted by a particularly confusing math problem as he hung there, not responding or moving. When his mind put two and two together, he shook his head quickly and responded that it was no problem. Harry was rewarded with a smile that certainly reminded him far more of Tonks than Bellatrix Lestrange or Narcissa Malfoy and was left to consider that as he ascended the unfamiliar stairs. The crying child was fairly easy to track by sound even if he hadn't had directions but Harry still found the house disorienting. For instance, the hallway upstairs that he momentarily paused in seemed to stretch twice as long as the one he just left downstairs despite him being sure that that one had run the width of the house.

Harry marked it down to the tendency of wizards and witches to enjoy things larger on the inside than they ought to be and opened the door marked with the name 'Dora.' Teddy had inherited his mother's room but someone had done a good job in preparing it for an infant or young child. Toys that Teddy was probably not yet old enough to play with waited in a trunk someone had left open in the corner and a bed for an older child was made with sheets the same tone of blue as the walls in the corner of the room opposite the crib which looked brand new. If forced to guess, Harry would assume that Lupin had had a hand in its making, too. Something about the sleek dark wood struck him as reminiscient of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom during Lupin's time at the school.

The boy inside of it, to a clearer mind than Harry had last time he saw Teddy, shared much in common with his father. For the moment, Teddy, clearly upset about something, seemed to leave his eyes alone, though his hair remained in a near state of flux shifting shades agonizingly slowly in front of Harry's eyes. Harry had seen children of this age before, sure, but poking at his memory turned up not a single piece of experience with them beyond holding Teddy once days ago. Ginny or Hermione one had been forced to correct how Harry was holding the boy, to top it off.

"Alright, Cub?" The nickname came out of nowhere, but felt just fine in his mind as he leaned over the child, catching Teddy under the arms and lifting him up from the crib. Lighter even than he looked, Harry figured that Teddy was still technically newborn. He couldn't remember Remus saying when his son was born. Harry adjusted his arms as he had been shown, wondering if parents eventually found holding a child correctly natural or if it took constant reminding. Careful to support his head and neck, Harry drew his friends' son close and slowly made toward the door of the room. Unlike the other night, Teddy did not seem to inexplicably calm down in his arms. That blessed fluke aside, Harry was clueless as he carefully descended the stairs, trying awkwardly to mimic parents he had seen with young children—there were surprisingly few he could pick out, all of them only in passing—and finding that nothing was working.

Andromeda Tonks watched out of the corner of her eye as Harry Potter entered her kitchen, a picture of comical abstract terror as he tried to quiet the wailing boy. Andromeda had seen that look mirrored on Ted's face when Nymphadora was young and on Remus' face his second night as a father. Harry Potter was, then, a normal wizard in some aspects. All told, his reaction was entirely comforting to her, if not amusing. She turned toward the table, using her wand to direct the tea service over to the table, followed by a small plate of cucumber sandwiches.

To his credit, it took Harry almost half a minute to look at Andromeda, clearly lost. In this aspect he surpassed her husband who was never able to stand hearing his daughter cry even at the same age Teddy was now.

"Probably just hungry," she counseled him. "Have a seat." Having foreseen this, Andromeda settled down opposite the tea platter, in the center of which sat Teddy's bottle. Harry, in his effort to seat himself carefully, did not encounter the realization that maybe, just maybe Andromeda Tonks was testing him. Instead he accepted the bottle and sat in near silence, listening and answering as needed, allowing Andromeda to teach him how to feed Teddy.

Since Voldemort died Harry had helped drag the dark wizard's body from the Great Hall, slept in a bed beside Ginny with her brother having a fair idea about that and no doubt assumptions about what else may have happened, felt bone-crushing guilt that sent him running away from his friends when they needed him and even Apparated across continents, something which even the most qualified wizards were told it was unwise to do (much less unlicensed wizards who had not even graduated Hogwarts.) Somehow, not one of those things felt as delicate or as real to him as what he was doing then. Strangely this was also the first time Harry had felt entirely natural since Voldemort died.

The fussing died down with surprising quickness once it was clear that, yes, Teddy was hungry. It gave them a chance to talk and they spoke as if the conversation in the hallway hadn't happened, indeed as if they had long been in good rapport. He liked to think she realized how bad he felt about his past with her and was being kind. However casual the tone though, the subject was not so happy.

"Remus and Nymphadora will be buried in the Black lot. I've tried to hunt down the Lupins' graves but I have had little success. Since I can't, I think they need to be as close to Nymphadora's family as possible." Harry nodded passively, Remus would not have cared and Harry firmly believed that she had given finding his parents' graves her all, given everything that was happening. He was also paying a lot of attention to the child in his arms based on the instructions he was being given about how much Teddy should be fed in any one sitting. "I will hold the funeral here on Saturday, perhaps just before dinner and then have their bodies taken to the lot to be buried that evening, is that reasonable to you?" Harry nodded yet again, remembering that Fred's funeral should be on Friday. That, however, did draw his attention away from Teddy.

"Mrs. Tonks?" he started, hesitant to interrupt her.

"Call me Andromeda, Harry. What is it?" He accepted the kindness with a smile and a third nod.

"It's just… the last time I remember looking at a copy of The Daily Prophet could have been weeks or months before Voldemort died. What's today? What's the date?" She glanced at him with a look of honest surprise, so he rushed to add, "It's just that we were rather isolated, is all."

"But given how long it's been since then, you're the last person I would expect to be isolated at all," still, though, she summoned a copy of the Prophet from the kitchen and as it hurried toward her, she asked, "What day do you think it is?" and received his honest response.

"Day Four After Voldemort." Silence stretched out at that, during which the only sound that could be heard was the apparent noise of Teddy deciding he was done. When Andromeda held out her arms, Harry stood up and passed the boy to his grandmother. As she held Teddy partially over her shoulder, lightly patting him on the back as she had instructed him how to do, Andromeda motioned to her copy of the Prophet.

"Keep it, I've read too much already."

_Wednesday, May 6th, 1998_

Strangely reconnecting the date with the day did little to help Harry but at the very least he knew how long he had until Fred's funeral to find his dressrobes, which he suspected were still at The Burrow: he had been wearing borrowed dress robes as part of his disguise when the Ministry fell. His eyes glanced down to the title of the cover article. "_Lucius Malfoy Turns Himself In, Wife And Son Still Sought For Questioning Related To Death Eater Activities." _Rather than read the article or focus too long on a photo of a younger Lucius Malfoy, Harry thumbed through the copious pages and that was how he realized how dangerous things still were. Even as people were reappearing who claimed to have been Imperiused, still more people were dying in vicious duels all over the country, many of them attempting to impose vigilante justice against suspected Death Eaters or collaborators. Several Death Eaters who had not participated in the Battle of Hogwarts or who had escaped before the final fight were turning up dead in the most gruesome ways. Missing muggles were being found in pieces at the sight of various entrances to the Ministry of Magic and there had already been a record seven attempts on Minister Kingsley's life by pure-blood supremacists.

Harry's heart dropped as he saw that one of these had nearly cost Mr. Weasley his life.

_Arthur and Percy Weasley of Ottery St. Catchpole serve as interim undersecretaries to Minister Kingsley which may explain the attack. Witnesses claim that after Rookwood attacked the Weasleys, a father and son pair, he seemed agitated and questioned them about the Minister's whereabouts before being overpowered. Rookwood awaits trial in the prison of Azkaban and is expected to be…_

Harry closed the paper without finishing what he was reading.

"You're right. Too much of that." Her sympathy was not lost on him but he turned his attention to one of the sandwiches on the tray in front of him and took one to have something to do with himself. "So, Saturday you said?"

"Yes, but there's something else I was wondering. Would you be willing to come by Monday night as well?"

"Sure," he agreed. "Why though?" It was hard to imagine a reason_ not _to do as she asked but she had asked for that night so specifically he found himself curious.

"It will be my grandson's first full moon." Now it made sense, realization spreading coolly inside of him. "No one is really sure whether the curse passed from Remus to him. If it has there's no telling what might happen. Children under the curse from a young age are naturally more resilient to the pain of the transformations than those who are bitten at an advanced age." He found himself wondering if she hadn't had this discussion with Remus or possibly gotten this talk from him.

"But there's no record of a werewolf in infancy. With the curse being labeled a 'disease' and werewolves treated as they are…" Harry definitely heard Remus in those words. "Well, suffice it to say no one really wants to come forward and help in research. It wouldn't be safe." He nodded at the explanation. "I want you to come because I think you should be here in case… in case Lupin's worst fears come to pass." Harry watched the tear roll from the corner of one eye, than another and assumed she meant 'in case Teddy is a werewolf like his father.' Then as her grief became more and more evident so that she had to carefully and deliberately hand the calmer child to Harry, he realized what she really meant.

Lupin, like her and now Harry himself had been terrified that his son was a werewolf and might not survive the pain of his first transformation. Looking down into the boy's face, watching one small fat fist reach up and move without any obvious goal, Harry quite understood Andromeda's tears. The very thought was like losing Lupin again, like losing Sirius. It was only the knowledge that Andromeda was momentarily out of commission as a result of her grief that kept Harry from becoming as upset as she was, which he thought said something of his own mental state.

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**A/N:** It will remain my attempt to remain as compliant as possible with the epilogue. However, I will not state that this story is entirely compliant with all of J.K. Rowling's information about the time in between. So far, I have not seen reason for any foreground or background pairing to deviate from established canon. Thank you to this story's first and thus far only reviewer for the question.


	4. Clear the Air

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and all associated entities who have a stake and claim in the franchise. I do not, make no money off of this and wouldn't seek to.

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**Chapter Four: _Clear the Air_**

Harry's eyelids wanted to droop even as he righted himself and took a leisurely moment to glance around the yard. Someone had forgotten for once to round up the chickens and Harry found the concept of chasing after them, corralling them to be overwhelming. Likely everyone in the towering, impossible house felt the same. He fumbled with the latch to the gate of the garden. The Weasleys' garden was never so kept so plain as Andromeda's, for instance, but today it seemed more hectic and overgrown than he had seen it before. The Harry who knocked smartly on the door was not the Harry he expected would reach The Burrow. He just felt like a walking bag of defeat.

The door opened just barely and he managed to see a flash of red hair and little else before someone threw it open quickly and he was pulled into the house and a pair of arms. While not as bone-crushing as some of her others, Mrs. Weasley still was quite clearly happy to see him and for once he was quick to return the hug, not caught off guard at all.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "Sorry I didn't come back with Hermione and explain myself. Especially after everything you've done—everything you do for me." Her only response was just to squeeze him tight and Harry wondered then, perhaps more than he ever had before, if Molly Weasley really did see him as another son. The briefest flash of memory of her boggart forms surfaced and he leaned forward, returning the squeeze just once more.

"How's Teddy?" she finally managed to ask when she pulled back, the smile not taking away from the obvious tears in her eyes, which she wiped with the end of her apron. "Sit down, we waited for you." Harry looked past her toward the table, Ron, George, Ginny sat along the right side, opposite of Hermione and her parents. Harry raised a hand in greeting and obeyed, trying not to feel bad that they waited for him for dinner. That hadn't been his intention but it smacked heavily of Mrs. Weasley.

"Teddy's alright for now," Harry said quietly. "We'll know more on Monday." He had been so absorbed for the last few hours in a cycle of thoughts that had upset him greatly, so that as he pulled a seat up opposite Mrs. Granger, he didn't think to clarify the statement. Mrs. Weasley and Hermione seemed to understand, he could see all too familiar pain cloud their faces momentarily. While the Grangers seemed to get the urge that there was an illness involved, Ron and Ginny were, at the moment at least, as lost to the importance of it as they were. George did not seem to be very aware of his surroundings, a disturbingly vacant look on his face as Mrs. Weasley seated herself at one end of the table, the empty seat that was reserved for her husband staring her down. "Alright, mate?" he asked, turning his head lightly to glance past Ginny and Ron to their elder brother.

George, still, did not notice. Ginny's elbow prodded him in the side softly at the same time as Hermione kicked him under the table. He remembered her words to Ginny about how he could still be very thick and would have smiled at the notion if it's veracity hadn't just been proven by him apparently drawing attention to something he shouldn't have. When Mrs. Weasley insisted on loading Mr. and Mrs. Grangers plates with food, Harry and the others took it to mean that that moment had passed.

"Got time to talk after?" Harry whispered to Ginny under the guise of accepting the bowl of potatoes being passed and taking a bit for himself. Her reply to the question as at least less non-committal than Hermione's when he passed that same bowl forward and asked her the same. Though, he got the feeling it was because she was explaining butterbeer of which someone had procured several bottles that were still cool as they sat on the table. Harry helped himself to one, desperately craving a bit of a sweet comfort drink. He almost felt better, especially when he placed his right hand down on the table and found another settle overtop of it, lightly pulling it down, off the table where the two hung, clutched to each other.

Whenever he wasn't making conversation—the majority of it seeming to be responding to the news of the day—Harry tried to catch Ginny's eye. Despite holding onto his hand she seemed to be having trouble holding her own in their discussions much less talking one-on-one to anyone, even him. This was so uncharacteristic of her that he was forced to keep himself distracted from this or risk making another faux pas like he apparently had with George, who answered no one and added nothing throughout the entire dinner. The Grangers finally took up telling of bits and pieces of the experiences they had had in Australia though as Harry listened he could hear the memories becoming colored by the rest of their memories, their lives, their personalities. Mr. Granger, apparently calmer than he had been described in Ginny's letter, actually seemed quite jovial about some of the things he had done as Wendell Wilkins, some of them being as small as a change in bedside manner. Well, as much as one can have a bedside manner as a dentist.

Harry noticed that Mr. Weasley did not come by. Working late was not entirely new to him, but Harry had to wonder how often since Voldemort died that Mr. Weasley had actually been home or seen most of his family. It was a question that even he thought it wise not to ask as he brought a stack of dishes over to the sink. At seeing him in any way engaged in helping with the cleaning, Mrs. Weasley jabbed him lightly on the chest with the end of her wand and pointed Harry toward the sitting room where everyone else had just disappeared except George, who sat picking at cold food. Perhaps she heard about him cleaning up after breakfast the morning prior, perhaps not but Harry took the message to get out and paid it heed. He found he couldn't resist placing a hand on George's back as he passed. At getting no reaction he continued but only after trying to offer him a look, an invitation to speak.

"Mister and Misses Granger?" Harry said, entering the room at a lull in the conversation. "Mind if I borrow your daughter for a moment?" Hermione's look was one of relief and she leapt off the couch from between Ron and Ginny before her parents could even answer. "I've got to grab my trunk from Ron's room, let's go, I'll multi-task." Harry felt the eyes on his back as he retreated up the stairs, not entirely sure what else to do or say. Hermione's footfalls sounded behind him but he kept going, past the first landing and to the top without stopping or saying anything.

When he pulled Ron's door open, he found that the ghoul had finally relocated and hurried across the messy, partially destroyed room to his trunk which somehow remained locked. Harry found the concept of carrying it down the stairs a bit of an overexertion at the moment, so he turned and seated himself on it. Hermione stood opposite of him neither sitting on the bed nor moving but looking askance at him.

"I'm sorry I left you and Ron," he started. As part of him had suspected, the phrase was the trigger for an explosion the likes of which usually only Ron got on the wrong end of.

"You're sorry, are you?" she spat, almost mockingly. She and Mrs. Weasley had this in common, the sickly-sweet tone of their voice just before crossing the line from angry to enraged. "Oh I suppose that makes it better then, doesn't it? You're sorry you weren't there when I needed you. You're sorry you didn't help me fight off the Death Eater waiting in my bedroom at home, the one who threatened my parents, the one who wrote horrible things all over the walls and destroyed part of the house, ruined any chance I had of spending a few bloody hours of sitting in my home and pretending to be back to normal. Sorry that you weren't here when I had to explain to mum and dad everything that happened… not just during the war but before! You didn't hear the questions they asked about Ron, about you, about the Weasleys, but you're sorry?!"

Buried in her anger was actual disappointment that he hadn't been around to defend himself to her parents. It would have been worthy of laughter if he wasn't now pressing a finger to each temple and rubbing against the growing headache. "Yes," was his only response.

"Where were you?" her tone had been building and building and threatening to break and now, finally, now she was screaming at him and her defiant step forward, wand out, momentarily scared him. This was Hermione, though, so Harry knew he was only facing the possibility of mild injury, not a proper maiming or death. Even so he ought to choose his next words carefully. Though, the best way to do that would be to lie completely, something he refused to do to the brunette with the angry tears on her face. "What was so important that after everything we've been through you couldn't even be there for me this one time when I needed you, Harry Potter?"

The answer wouldn't satisfy her, it didn't satisfy him. If she hadn't already been heard by the group in the sitting room the time was fast approaching when she would be. That was why Harry stood up and crossed to the door of the room. When he reached it she lunged, catching him by the wrist. He tightened up but forced himself to remember where he was and who he was with. Only the highest degree of focus stopped him from trying to jerk his hand free of her grasp and damn the consequences. His free hand shut the door.

"I was hiding."

"Hiding? Hiding from what?" she yelled. "What, did you suddenly develop an irrational fear of dentists or was the air of a spring morning in Brisbane somehow so terrifying that it shook the famous Harry Potter to his very core?" He felt her jerk him toward her but when he barely budged, she released his hand and struck him, once across the face. Harry's eyes never left her face and perhaps she saw the transformation of his thoughts, the loss of his control in his eyes. Harry didn't have time to ask what inspired her to take several quick steps backward, bump into Ron's bed and fall into a sitting position, but she managed to do it a split second before he snapped.

"I don't bloody well know, do I?" He heard the strain in his vocal chords as he answered at the top of his lungs. "Maybe I was running from Fred and Lupin and Tonks and Dumbledore and Sirius! Maybe I was running from you and Ron. Maybe I was scared that I'd made an ass of myself the day after Voldemort died and I was running from this house and everyone in it who I should have been thinking about instead of acting like some sort of prat running around laughing and drinking because they're all dealing with Fred. Maybe I was running from normal life because normal life means funerals and reporters, it means not being sure who thinks what of me or what I think of anyone I know." Something banged hard into Harry's shin but he shrugged the pain off.

"Maybe I was running from Ginny because everything she told me she's scared about scares me too, maybe it's all I fucking think about now because who the hell am I? You've got your parents, you are their child. Ron has his family, he is their son, brother, friend. Who am I now? Who do I have? A house elf who I can't look in the eye because I know he needs to be set free and will never accept it? How about a big old empty house full of memories. None of them tell me who I am." Harry could see that whatever tears had come before were gone, but Hermione was not a mask of cool frustration. He couldn't read her. He felt a pain in his arms but didn't let it distract him.

"Who am I, Hermione? No mum, no dad, no godfather, no friend of my parents left, no Dumbledore left to help me figure out what I'm supposed to do now. I'm terrified to go into public and every time people get close to me I'm afraid one of them is going to attack me. I haven't touched my wand since I left Australia because every time I do something feels sick and wrong about it. I'm afraid if another mob of reporters finds me, I'll curse every one of them if I have my wand because that's how much they scare me." Harry looked down and found that his knees were pressed against the end of Ron's bed, Hermione was backed up against the headboard, wand in her hand as if she was ready to defend herself from an attack. He looked down at his own clenched fists and saw something wrapped around his right arm, something warm and pink and soft. He looked over his shoulder and saw her, straining against him when he wasn't even aware he was pulling. On his left, Ron was pulling as insistently as his sister but if possible was being even more careful.

"What was I hiding from? I don't fucking know." He wasn't even capable of looking Hermione in the eyes this time. "Maybe I was hiding you all from me." Harry's hands uncurled and he relaxed against Ron and Ginny's hold. The three of them stood in close proximity until Hermione lowered her wand from Harry's chest and then the other two backed away from him.

"Out!" Harry turned back toward Ron, whose face was contorted in fury as he stalked across the room, cast a spell on Harry's trunk and dragged it over to Harry, taking his best mate's hand and closing it tightly around the handle. "Out!" When Harry didn't move, Ron physically moved him. Ginny's protest rang cleanly in his ears but Harry tried to recover his wits about him. He knew he ought to move, he ought to turn and leave but somehow his body didn't want to work properly which was also what lead to him not able to do anything but close his eyes tightly when he saw Ron's fist coming. The strike never landed but Harry heard the door he had not notice open at all slam shut and the familiar pop of a spell sealing it shut. He opened his eyes to see Ron on his ass on the far side of the room and a look over his shoulder showed who was responsible. The fists banging on the bedroom door were clearly Mr. and Mrs. Granger's because neither of them seemed to be able to do anything about the sealing charm that was keeping them out.

Ron started to stand up but George moved like a man possessed and restrained him with a silent spell. Ginny was pushed aside by another but righted herself solidly. Harry expected something much worse when George turned vicious eyes on him, but though he did find himself thrown aside it was just so that he would be pinned to the wall. Hermione did not move from her place at the headboard. Each one of them remained stuck on each side of the room with George standing in the middle, looking like a man possessed.

"Are you quite finished?" That voice had never passed through those lips before. Never had either twin sounded so close to violence that Harry felt fear at their voice but the disarmed Boy-Who-Lived knew better than to speak or answer. "Look at you lot, three of you the conquering heroes and none of you are smart enough to admit you've all knobbed everything up the last few days." George spun, wand in hand as if casting or blocking a spell from a duelist, but it pointed at Ron, who was not trying to stand despite the fact that no one but Harry seemed to be magically restrained. "You haven't even spoken to mum about Fred since he died. When Ginny, Mum and I were planning every detail of his funeral you were off with Hermione, which was important, but what about the rest of the time? When she was busy or not around, you were sitting up in your room, burying your head in the pillow and pretending that not opening your eyes meant life couldn't happen." The same precision and speed brought the wand tip to Harry.

"You, you're much simpler, aren't you? You made my sister cry, my mother worry, Hermione angry enough to get you to this point and my brother mad enough to kick you out of this house." The banging on the door stopped; apparently whoever was on the other side was listening or had run to get help. "The grand hero. I'd say you were as pathetic as the others if you weren't the only one who had the fortitude to admit you were wrong." Ginny returned George a scathing look that Harry did not miss as the spell released him and he slid down the wall and onto his backside. "Right, you too. Look at you. Fred dies and the first thing you do is leave without telling Mum you're going? Until she found Ron she was scared sick, Death Eaters still roaming the castle and all. I don't care _what _you were doing and it's no one's business but yours and Harry's, but you never make Mum worry like that again, not when you could be in real actual danger that she can do nothing about." When finally he turned toward Hermione, she was already as calm as Harry, as Ron. To Harry's intense displeasure, the same level of vitriol and cruelty that went into George's description of Ron's transgressions was turned on Hermione.

"And you, you're the worst of the whole lot," she did not look affronted, instead she gazed at George as she had McGonagall for years, with wide eyes and an open mind, waiting to absorb any piece of information dropped like a scrap of food to a starving dog. Whatever she expected, it was not what she got. "You know better. You know what this—this scene you tried to start with Harry—you know what it could do to you, to him, to my family, OUR family. You know everyone in this house, everyone in the bloody country is a cobbled together skeleton of platitudes, mantras muttered under the breath, denial and delusions of security. Oh no, Harry got a little freaked out and ran away. Well, when you step in front of a wand with the intent of never drawing another breath, then you can tell me how fucking together you are when it keeps happening. And tonight, you did this tonight? Did you not hear him at dinner? He—"

The door had been unsealed by Mrs. Weasley who was not rushing into the room but who had apparently been listening. Framed in the open door were the Grangers and both Weasley parents. Harry wanted to listen to George while watching them, reading their faces. George, however had seen the open door and apparently changed his mind.

"Sod it, either you lot are as good of friends as you should be after living and dying for each other and you can all figure it out from here, or you self-destruct, go to your own corners of the world and feel sorry for yourselves. I don't care." George was not any kinder in his exit than he had been in his entrance. It was only Mr. Granger and Mr. Weasley's quick reactions that kept the both from being knocked to the ground as George Weasley jogged down the stairs.

Eight people stood and sat close to each other, looking from person to person in complete silence. Harry realized he couldn't ready any faces, he didn't understand a damn thing any of them were feeling and that extended to himself. He pushed himself to his feet, remembering that the only reason he was sitting was because George's spell had finally worn off. He crossed the room in a straight line quickly and leaned forward, finding himself on the bed beside one of his best friends before she or anyone else could react. He was holding her, but not as he had held Ginny. It felt rougher, stronger as if he was trying to send every good thought he'd ever had about her through it. He felt a large, rough hand on his neck and despite the momentary tensing he held still. The hand did not move to hurt him. He felt the callouses of a Quidditch player in it and knew it was Ron. Ginny's hands were smaller and looking over Hermione's shaking shoulder as he pulled her tight and she grabbed hold of him with one hand, Ron with another, he saw the girl settle beside Hermione, rubbing at her back.

"Merlin," he found himself murmuring. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there when you needed me." He did not say who he was addressing the statement to.

It took several minutes for everyone to evacuate the room. Hermione did not sit with her parents but beside Ron when they finally reentered the sitting room. The Grangers themselves retired to bed when it was clear that whatever had happened before that had sent Weasleys running one after another up the stairs was over and more than that perhaps a bit constructive. None of the others seemed to meet each other's' eyes and Arthur who had come back at a firecall from Mrs. Weasley had left. Whether that was to return to work or hunt down the now missing George, Harry didn't know. All he knew was that Ginny seemed to read his mind when he finally stood up and prepared to leave, hand on the trunk that Ron had turned feather light.

Molly, sitting at one end of the room in an armchair watched her stand up as if to follow him to the door. The two women shared a look between them.

"You're underage."

"Will that make you stop me, if it's what I really want? If it's what Harry and I both want?" Momentarily clueless, Harry watched Hermione look up from a whispered discussion with Ron and perhaps it was the way she looked at he and Ginny instead of at Molly and Ginny that made Harry look at Ron next. Ron did not look at him. "What if I wanted to pack up right now and go with him?" Harry understood. The concept actually made his heart soar, but her mother responded.

"Would I actually physically stop you? No," the admissions made Ginny unwind. "But is it wise? Look what's happening?"

"How about we start with just a night or two… as long as…" Harry saw her glance searchingly at him, warming his insides. "I want a chance to spend time with Harry. Maybe go see Teddy together tomorrow, before the full moon." His eyes closed and he listened. It was better than trying to analyze the situation. "If you wouldn't stop me from staying there, why would you stop me from going for a couple of days?" Harry could have heard a pin drop in the sitting room but when Molly stood he opened his eyes.

"You take very good care of each other, do you understand? Neither of you is… is…" her voice trailed off. "Well, just look at what happened tonight." Accusatory in nature, her tone told him what had her so concerned. Harry tried to find something to say back and was thoroughly lost when Ginny broke off from beside him and left the room. He was left standing, confused for several seconds until she reappeared with a rucksack over her shoulder. How long had she been planning this? Harry turned back toward Mrs. Weasley.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Weasley. I… thank you." He wanted to apologize for ruining their evening, for all the noise and the arguments but then there was the issue that her daughter was leaving with him and she wasn't entirely on board with that. That would seem to be even worse. Yet, he couldn't apologize for it. He let Ginny lead him away, turning for one last look over his shoulder at his best mates as they watched him leave. How close had he come to attacking one and how close had the other come to attacking him tonight?

"Come on, before she changes her mind or Ron does his nut." The mutter should have made him smile but this felt like some sort of moment of importance. Walking out of The Burrow with Ginny like that with his trunk and her rucksack felt like walking into the Forbidden Forest. At least, Harry thought, no one in the house was likely to try to kill him. "Harry… try to let it out of your mind for a second. I want you to be with me." He stared ahead and opened the door, letting her out in front of him. It was only after that door shut behind them that he exhaled.

"Are you really thinking about coming to Grimmauld Place… you know, on a long term basis?" He saw the smile curl from one side of her mouth. The nod confirmed that she was considering it and that was all that he needed to realize that this was important, that it was as important to focus on her in that second as it was to worry about having offended any given Weasley or Granger. Though the one he was most worried about, he found, was George. She squeezed his hand, reminding him that they were joined there. "Let's go," he warned, before turning on the spot, breath catching in his chest and the world falling harshly away.

Harry released her hand upon landing but mostly as a precaution for her. Flashbulbs lit them up, forcing Harry to throw that hand over his eyes. Ginny was cursing at someone but she pulled it together far quicker than he had and pulled him up the steps quickly and to the door. Harry fished a key out of his pocket and managed to get it into the lock in time to hear the first questions shouted from the foot of the steps. Ginny faltered for a second and he wondered if she was about to chew out someone in the crowd. Instead of letting her, he tugged insistently on her arm and was grateful that she followed him into the house.

Kreacher, as was normal for him since he and Harry had developed their rapport was quick to appear at the foot of the steps, beside the door to the kitchen. Harry thought that somehow without him noticing Mrs. Weasley had had a talk with Kreacher about being willing to ply Harry with food at any given moment. That was why Harry grinned as the elf opened the door to the kitchen.

"Hello Master Harry, Miss Weasley. Can Kreacher make anything for Master and his friend?" Harry shook his head, quickly. Looking a little defeated, the elf nodded, then his face brightened. "Could Kreacher get anything to drink?" Harry glanced toward Ginny, who shrugged as she shouldered her rucksack.

"Could you possibly bring a couple of bottles of butterbeer to the parlor on the first floor?"

"And a couple of glasses please?" Ginny asked after him.

When the elf gave a quick, silent bow toward Harry and hurried off into the kitchen, he shot Ginny a look of warning and headed for the stairs. "I know," he said, "I know. Every time I try to figure out how to broach the subject of setting him free I just imagine having to stop him trying to brain himself in punishment."

"I wasn't going to say a thing," she replied, sounding amused. She did, however, follow him upstairs and into the sitting room. She did not attempt to retake his hand but hung back for a moment as they entered the room. Harry understood why. Between he, Ron, Hermione and Kreacher most of Grimmauld Place had been changed, cleaned, repainted. The heads of Kreacher's ancestors no longer adorned the walls and the majority of the Black photos were stored in Regulus' room. The piano in the sitting room had been cleaned and moved to another corner. Like the master bedroom, the peeling wallpaper had been stripped away. A familiar dark green, the same covering most of the walls on this floor and the one above—save for the master bedroom—was lit surprisingly well by a few candles. He padded over to the old, well kempt couch and settled down on it, untying his trainers and kicking them off. He shifted off his jacket and then settled back.

Ginny seemed to be paying an inordinate amount of attention to the rest of the room and he allowed her to hold off as long as she wanted before talking to him. They had just been through something pretty stressful, after all. Still, when Kreacher came and went before Ginny seemed inclined to sit down anywhere, he felt a pang of anxiety, something he had to squash down. Perhaps she sense this because Ginny placed the rucksack down on the ground at the other end of the couch and sat down beside it, turning to face him, her legs stretching across his lap. The smug look of comfort challenged him—playfully of course—to say anything about it, but all he did was pick up both bottles of the sugary drink and pass one to her.

"When I was at Andromeda's house… she gave me a copy of the Prophet. Didn't know what day it was until then." He tried to offer her a smirk at his own stupidity as he took the hint of one twitched leg and put his bottle down. He took one foot in both hands and set to working over the muscles in it. Rewarded with a contented noise, Harry continued talking. "I guess I kind of thought that everything would stop the minute Riddle died but it sounds as dangerous now as it was the day before he did." Ginny didn't speak, perhaps thinking, perhaps letting him get his own thoughts out, either way he just let his hands do their work as he had many times before. "Makes me wonder how bad things must be getting for the aurors. I read your dad and Percy took down Rookwood." Ginny nodded once, and then sat her own bottle down, half finished.

"Yeah," Ginny said. "The news sort of startled George a bit. Percy thinks it was Rookwood who threw the spell that killed Fred but…"

"But there's no way to know. I was there; the spell could have come from anywhere or anyone at that point." She seemed to accept that without any reservations and Harry took a chance to take a long draught from his bottle before switching over to her other foot. She leaned back against the arm of the couch, head tilting back. "Feel any better?"

"Loads," she admitted. "I'm sorry about what happened earlier… and about what I said the other day. I didn't mean to upset you or worry you."

"Well," he said quietly. "I don't think you should apologize for telling me you were scared. I didn't know it at the time but it was exactly like I felt. It was what I needed to hear. It was what you felt and what you needed to say and I know I acted like a prat," his hands slowed down, mind occupied, "but I want to help you. I really do. I just…"

"You're confused, right?" Ginny asked, pulling her legs back and shifting so that they were beneath her and allowed her to lean toward and against him. "Confused and scared, like you said to Hermione." 'Said' was a bit of an understatement, but Harry nodded. "So you're in the same boat as any of us, or maybe a bit worse off?" Red in the face, he just shrugged. "So if you don't know what to do to help sometimes, don't you think I understand? Next time, come to me and don't run away because it scared me more." The color in his face didn't drain but he did allow her to lean in close, their foreheads pressed together as she closed her eyes. "I missed you."

For a few moments he only quietly waited here with his own eyes closed. Their closeness was much like the night Voldemort fell, he felt so close to her that she might be supporting some weak portion of him that usually was left to dangle uselessly in the wind invisible to the world but a huge weakness to him whenever he turned his eyes inwards. A noise pulled on the edge of his hearing but given the small twitch he felt from Ginny he figured she was causing it and gave more attention to the urge he had to kiss her. Indeed, that was where he was heading but, perhaps comically, perhaps tragically, when he leaned in his lips met something cold and most certainly not Ginny. When he opened his eyes to her laughter and pulled away, Ginny moved the wine bottle away. He recognized the Delacours' gift. Harry had to admit he went looking for it a night prior. His embarrassment was short lived.

Ginny leaned over him—an act that he thought she knew was the tiniest bit uncomfortable for him—and grabbed both of the glasses she had asked Kreacher to bring. Harry watched the red wine fill up each glass and when she handed one to him he took the moment to steal a peck on one warm, freckled cheek. Ginny had her turn to flush slightly though perhaps years of having the intense Weasley Red blush taught her to suppress it better than he could because she recovered more quickly. Harry had a thousand and one questions still but wondered if he ever wouldn't as the glasses clinked lightly together in a toast. Neither of them had anything to toast to or drink to but neither had reasons not to drink, nor did Harry find the taste entirely disagreeable. It was appropriate, too, somehow to have Ginny curled up against his side, the two trying a wine whose taste was far too fine for their young years.

One thing was for sure, though. Harry could become very, very used to life Grimmauld Place if he had her by his side.

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**A/N:** I think that this chapter shows that Harry is not the only one who is experiencing a lot of conflicting emotions that should not be coming so quick but also shows that something more is going on.


	5. Mistrust

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and all associated entities who have a stake and claim in the franchise. I do not, make no money off of this and wouldn't seek to.

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**Chapter Five: _ Mistrust_**

Harry felt more than a little groggy when he woke and rolled over in bed. He had gotten desperately warm at some point and gotten rid of his pajama top. This should have made him uncomfortable or at least the tiniest bit self-conscious but his bleary eyes sought out Ginny with absolutely no hesitation. They didn't find her, however until he looked to see her apparently having a short, one-sided discussion with Moros. The owl was at rest on her hand and had apparently just come in with a letter. He sat up quietly as she detached the letter from his leg and turned to sit back down, Moros returning to his cage. The light outside told him it wasn't as early as he thought it to be. She stopped at the sight of him, smiling more widely than he thought he could after just waking up and much like him not making a note of his state of half-dress.

"I sent Mrs. Tonks a letter earlier," the redhead said, settling onto the bed and pulling the leg of her slightly too large pajama bottoms up. "Just got a response."

"Earlier?" he managed, rubbing at his eyes. "'time is it?" She laughed at his stifled response and he couldn't really come up with a good response to her taunting. So he just allowed himself to yawn and roll back onto his back, eyes closing. "Head's fuzzy, don't make fun of me." This drew a falsely concerned noise as she put down the letter atop the growing pile on his table and leaned over him, lips pressing against his cheek.

"Poor thing," she taunted. "It's about eleven. We're expected at Mrs. Tonks' house in about two hours, so you need to get up." Harry couldn't fight the defeated groan. "Besides. It's so weird here with you asleep. It's just me and your owl."

"Moros," he corrected.

"Moros," she agreed. "Just us and my house is so full that morning is usually too loud to sleep through. Come on, keep me company."

"Well," Harry said, reaching out to find and put his glasses on, but deciding at the last minute to wrap that arm around Ginny as she hovered over him and pull her down to him. Eliciting a most uncharacteristic sound of surprise, Harry marked down a victory and hugged the chaser. "This could be your house too." Harry kept his hold on her light, mostly in case he had crossed some sort of line with the statement. They had not talked about her moving in with him the night prior. Every serious discussion that could be avoided had been, which left only the light, trivial things or things of a more personal nature. Ginny had little problem taunting him in the last category.

When she finally returned his hug, though turned them, forcing him to roll over onto his side and press his face lightly against her cheek, Harry knew at least that she was not upset with the suggestion. She allowed him to move just enough that he was laying his head on her pillow but not much farther than that. It seemed that she might actually be contemplating the thought until he heard the sigh deep in her throat.

"For now, how about you just say that I get first dibs on the bath?" Rolling his eyes Harry released her, poked her in the shoulder and nodded toward the door adjacent to the bed.

"Have at it," he answered. "I've never actually used the master bath. Tend to go downstairs." Ginny rose from the bed with a contemplative look.

"If you're asleep when I get out, you'll regret it."

He believed her, but not enough to stay awake with the sound of water filling the tub trickling into the room and drawing his eyes closed.

The finger in his side did little to rouse him at first, but it being joined by several others seeking to either tickle or poke him awake at any given moment forced him to open his eyes. Her response, far from having a bit of mercy, was to become more aggressive and remind him loudly that they had somewhere to be. Normally, Harry wouldn't have wanted to disappoint or annoy her but the soft, warm bed whispered of comfort while opening his eyes and facing the day was a lot more up in the air, however promising the company was.

In the end, after half a minute of trying to get him up, she grumbled something about him being as bad as Ron. His response was to turn over, grab hold of the hand poking him in the side and pull her close enough to him to keep an arm around her while still far enough that she could see his obvious, exaggerated pout. She repeated a firm 'no' several times and reminded him he needed to get up but the laughter in her voice culminated in an equally overdone sigh of defeat. Mercy found its way to the redhead who allowed him a few more minutes and even lay beside him, coloring his half-sleep with the scent of flowers from her shampoo.

Those few minutes still ended all too soon and it took Harry a surprising amount of time to stumble down into the kitchen, a towel still running through his soaked hair. Kreacher had prepared a basic breakfast out of the admittedly limited supplies—Harry hadn't been shopping, but Kreacher had been able to get them enough food at his request to make a go at meals—that tasted about as good as his usual fair. That is to say it may not have beaten out Mrs. Weasley but it made Petunia Dursley's food seem closer to rubber shoes. It reminded him immensely of Hogwarts, actually. Ginny seemed to agree, calling a compliment through the kitchen door as Kreacher snuck out to do, well, Harry wasn't sure what.

When a head appeared in the fireplace halfway through the meal, Harry actually found himself jumping, utterly surprised. Ginny, apparently was more than capable of covering up for Harry, who was coughing to handle the sip of orange juice which had just gone down the wrong pipe. Over the sound of his own wheezing he heard the ladies plan for him and Ginny to just come through after the meal and meet Andromeda out back. He tried to say goodbye to Andromeda but the conversation as so quick and concise that he was still trying to get his burning throat to make normal sounds by the time she was advising him to chew his food more carefully and letting the firecall end.

Harry stood back a moment and watched Ginny trying to brush the soot from her clothing and only barely managed to remember to do the same. While they had both had breakfast and made it on time to Andromeda's, Harry was still feeling sluggish when he raised his head from his still sooty clothing and was greeted by the sight of Teddy in his grandmother's arms. They weren't in the sitting room, Harry and Ginny had clearly caught her on her way by the doorway, though she wasn't heading toward the back.

"Ginny," Andromeda greeted, smiling wider than Harry could remember seeing before. "It's so nice to see you again."

"Good morning," she greeted. "How are you?"

"I'm just fine, I was just going upstairs to—" Andromeda broke off. "Say, Ginny, Harry's wanted to have some time with Teddy and I need tomorrow off, to attend to… things." The tone in her voice shifted so rapidly and slightly that Harry almost missed it. "But I'm not sure yet. Do you think he's ready for the final test?" Andromeda freed a hand long enough to gesture to Teddy, who made a frustrated noise. Ginny, for her part, chose not to fill him in but instead to give him what he swore was supposed to be an evaluating look, like he had seen countless teachers giving his homework.

"Yeah," she answered, though it was drawn out as if she was still considering the response even as she spoke. "I suppose so, question though?"

"Yes?"

"Do I get to watch and laugh? His face should be just about priceless."

With a chuckle that to Harry sounded strangely dangerous, Andromeda stepped out of the hallway and approached him. He looked into her ace just briefly but the 'Noble House of Black' look had settled onto her face, betraying nothing at all. Without hesitation he accepted his godson into his arms and felt Andromeda's hand rest on his shoulder as she turned and pointed toward where he knew the stairs were on the other side of the wall.

"Supplies and table are up in his room. Your godson needs changed."

Despite her taunting that she wanted to see his face, Ginny had not followed him upstairs and into the little boy's room. Instead, Harry and Teddy joined Andromeda and Ginny out back after what felt like too long. Harry, for his part, felt a bit of a failure given how long it had taken him to figure out just how to actually put a diaper on. Teddy, thankfully, had been fairly patient with him, but Harry wasn't sure the experience was one he would get used to. Still, redressing the child after that had been simple enough and Andromeda was apparently satisfied with him returning at all. Harry did keep Teddy close as he took a seat opposite of Ginny at the table out back. He watched the shimmer of the wards surrounding the house and imagined them to be about as strong as those that kept the reporters from actually getting up to the door of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

"So, Harry," Harry did his best to ignore that mischievous timbre in Andromeda's voice or the way that Ginny looked not at him but directly at another plate of those cucumber sandwiches that Harry had enjoyed the day before. He did not exactly have much of an appetite so he turned his own eyes to his little godson. "What took you so long?"

"Incompetence, maybe," he drawled, imitating Sirius whenever he got the urge to play along with a joke he was the butt of. "Or maybe I was just busy telling Teddy what a charming, cunning pair of ladies he was spending the morning with." She raised a mug toward him as if in salute and returned to her tea. "I might have slipped in something about always looking over my shoulder from now on in there but it's so hard to remember." At Ginny's gesture he allowed her take Teddy from him and as the boy switched to her arms he watched Teddy imitate Ginny's particular shade of red hair. For being such a young age, Teddy frequently shifted hair and eye color to those that matched people around him. Either the ability he shared with his mother operated instinctually—at least to a degree—or Teddy possessed intelligence that he was too young to have.

That, like the approaching full moon, was something Harry chose not to think about. Instead he listened to Ginny and Andromeda talk about the house and how she and Ted had come to own it. He remained more attentive to his godson, accepting the boy back after several minutes of sipping tea and imputing the occasional remark to show he was not entirely ignoring them despite having nothing to contribute. As Harry took the infant back, watching him quickly return to sleep, Andromeda changed the subject to one that made Harry stiffen a bit.

"Your brother's funeral is around noon, Friday yes?" Ginny replied in the affirmative but he could hear the change of tone in her voice, could see the way her pointer finger traced shapes in on the table and did not stop. "I hope you and your family will be willing to come to my daughter and her husband's? I have not sent out invitations as your mother and father have because, sadly, I just haven't had time yet. Hopefully tomorrow." Ginny's only response was a nod and then a moment of stillness before she shook her head and looked up at Andromeda.

"How have you been handling it?" she asked with honest concern in her voice. Harry had not asked that question of anyone since the fall of Voldemort. To him, it seemed simply unnecessary. How were any of them handling all that they'd lost? Obviously as well as they could and no better or worse. Frankly, with as much as she had on her plate, Harry respected Andromeda's strength immensely. He hoped that one day it was the same kind of control he would have.

"I've had my moments," Andromeda answered, her voice unbroken by weariness. "I haven't been myself, but it helps to have something to focus on and Teddy's just a few hours from being a dozen days old. He needs a lot of care." Harry could imagine her waking up in the middle of the night to see to her grandson but he had to say there was no sign of sleep deprivation on her face. When Harry missed two or three hours of sleep a night for half a day he looked as if he had been punched in both eyes. "He's a much quieter baby than Nymphadora, though." That surprised Harry, who had never heard a sound like Teddy's wailing when he was upset. Then again, Harry had never been around any young children. Apparently the topic had been too light because they then began to discuss aspects of Lupin and Tonks' dual funeral.

Harry, having helped her plan most of it the night before, sat this conversation out, too. He had little reason to interject and a bit of a reason to hope they did not drag him into it. Harry was supposed to not only speak at the funeral but Andromeda expected him to essentially run it. Religion was not a huge thing in the Wizarding World except in the way of philosophy and Harry had no clue of any philosophy of note that he could quote that would have meant anything to Tonks or Lupin. Still, as he listened to them, Harry's thoughts turned away from doing anything obvious like trying to make some pre-established thing to say. Andromeda had written and would read a eulogy for Tonks and Harry knew she expected him to do the same for Lupin.

There was another option, though.

"Harry?" he lifted his head. "Did you hear me?"

"No," he admitted, ruefully. "'was thinking of something else." Andromeda forgave freely enough, perhaps because she could see the look on his face as he watched Teddy. Either way, she gave him a second and then repeated herself.

"I said I was hoping you could come by around nine on Saturday, will you be able?" Harry told her that, yes, this would be easily done and then returned to letting the two converse with each other without too terribly much of his input. That was how he spent most of the remainder of the visit. His companions were content to let him spend time with his godson, even feed him at one point and didn't mind that his contributions to whatever topic they were covering were few and far between. Harry imagined that Ginny must have known Andromeda fairly well before then because they did talk like old friends. It was actually rather comfortable.

He was sad to see it end, but the rest of the day had potential to be just as enjoyable. Ginny was staying with him and they both would be going to The Burrow early the next morning to help prepare for Fred's funeral. That meant, Harry acknowledge as he handed his godson back to Andromeda and turned to enter the fire behind Ginny, that they had half a day together. He spilled out of the fire a bit less in control of himself than he would like but he only stumbled a step or two forward before he grabbed hold of one of the kitchen chairs nearest the fire and righted himself.

With a grimace at the look on her face, Harry stretched and set about ridding himself of the old, uncomfortable muggle shoes. Ginny had already informed him it was time he 'finally got a wardrobe' twice, but Harry's response held true: he was used to the oversized hand-me-downs. The shoes, though, were a right pain in the feet. It was as they stood in the kitchen, Harry looking about as if something in there was going to prompt something for one of them to say, that Harry realized what they may have looked like to Andromeda, if she were looking closely enough.

Now they stood in basement kitchen in silence, neither one breaking it, neither daring to make a decision and neither knowing if the other was equally lost or simply waiting for them to speak. Harry had to imagine that to an observer they looked like a pair of unimaginative children playing 'House,' or as the Wizards and Witches called it 'Family.' The thought was at least enough to allow Harry a chuckle, short lived though it was. Ginny's response was pretty much immediate. It was confusion, maybe even a bit of concern. Had he misread her silence?

"What?" the redhead asked, curiosity laced with the vocal equivalents of everything he saw in her face. Harry took a step closer and shook his head. His hands reached out and he found them resting at her waist. His smile returned at her response, a simple but almost suggestive hand pressed to his shoulder, that started to rise, around to the back up to his neck. She was leaning toward him before he knew it and Harry had no idea what had turned a moment of silence and awkwardness into this. A light touch of the lips was all that passed between them, but it spoke volumes.

"We're acting silly. This is Grimmauld Place. No one's got anything to say to us, no one's judging us if we decide to act like kids and sit around just talking about Quidditch or anything we could have talked about before the war. It's just us, we're alone." At the last word, Ginny's face turned a bit darker but instead of backing away from him, she pulled him forward for another kiss, one like her birthday present to him so long ago.

"Not really," corrected the soft voice of one of his best friends. The fireplace they had just spilled out of now played host to yet another large, floating head that represented a person on the other side of a firecall. "I, the call connected, I didn't mean to eav-" As he turned around he felt one of her arms wrap around his waist and that was enough to keep him close to her. He watched Hermione trail off into silence and gave her a second before beckoning her.

"Do you want to come through?" he asked the brunette who hung there. He had had his head in the fire for such a call before and it could be uncomfortable, even if someone had recently cleared the ash from the fireplace. Harry expected that that wasn't the case when she did come through, coughing loudly, eyes close but still managing to have better balance one exit than he had. Harry broke off from Ginny as the redhead saw to their friend and came back several seconds later with a glass of water. He hadn't seen Hermione since walking out of The Burrow with Ginny but then, that hadn't been too terribly long ago. So why did she look as if she hadn't slept well for a week?

Perhaps she hadn't slept at all last night?

"What's up?" he asked her, as casually as he could before sitting down to the side of the table, leaving the nearest chair to her open. Hermione seemed content to let she and Ginny both sit down before she tried to talk. That, or the water was doing her some good. Still, when it finally came time to talk, she was both visually exhausted and apprehensive. Was it the memory of their argument that did that to her? Was she, perhaps, concerned that saying the wrong thing would have him again charging across the room and pinning her in a corner?

"Ginny, could you-"

"No," Harry cut across her, flatly. "Anything you've got to say to me can be said in front of anyone." He wasn't doing it entirely for the benefit of his girlfriend or best friend, either. Harry had to admit that even he was unsure exactly what had caused such a quick and violent reaction in him the night before and he wasn't intent on repeating the experience if she got upset. Ginny being around might diffuse the situation or at the very least, if it got out of control, allow Hermione to restrain him without fear of hurting him. It was a lot easier not to seriously injure a target if you had multiple people working that target over.

"Fine," she replied, the slightly affronted edge in her voice reminded him of lectures about keeping quiet in the school library, either by Madame Pince or Hermione herself. "Harry, I wanted to ask you whether you've noticed anything different since Voldemort died." She apparently did not understand the look of incredulity he shot her because she didn't rush to explain herself, so Harry only bit back the urge to start his response off with an obscenity or three and with a great effort kept his voice even.

"Different how?" The question was a valid one. His life was utterly different now from a year ago, even two weeks ago.

"I mean about you."

"Let's see. I've got a new owl, his name's Moros, he's really great and surprisingly affectionate for an owl, but reminds me of Hedwig a lot. It's pretty sad, but what can be done? I live at Grimmauld Place, but then again, we did that for quite a while, you, Ron and I. It's a bit more quiet with just me and honestly the time here is very good with..." he glanced sideways at Ginny. "The right company." He could see the bushy-haired woman grinding her teeth at his response but only shrugged. "What do you want to hear from me, Hermione?"

"I want to hear that you recognize that you haven't touched your wand in way too long, that I haven't seen you cast a spell since you let Hogwarts, that you told me your wand felt wrong to you. I want you to tell me you've noticed how much worse your mood swings are than they ever were when Voldemort was messing around in your head and seem like they're a little dangerous. Tell me, Harry, that you realize you've even changed your speech patterns."

"What?" now it was Harry's turn to be as baffled as Ginny was earlier. "I have not!"

"You, actually have," Ginny interjected, leaning half forward one arm resting on the table and the other reaching across to rest her left hand on his arm. "It's kind of strange. You don't pronounce words quite the same and sometimes you leave them off all together. You didn't use magic for every little thing like Fred and George, but you definitely never left your wand behind, Harry. It's still in that drawer with the parchment and ink, isn't it? I checked before we left." Hermione turned a concerned eye on Ginny. "He hasn't taken it out the whole time I've been here," she confirmed.

"So what? I'm not entirely reliant on my wand. That's not such a bad thing, I was raised by muggles, I know how to do some things by hand." Hermione batted her hand as if knocking the response aside and he saw the fire of the old Hermione in her face.

"Yeah, I get that, but Harry, you're not well."

"I'd bloody well expect not," Ginny replied, speaking over him. "Who is? George is right, none of us is acting like we normally would. I don't know about you but every second I'm not busy talking to someone or doing something I'm trying my best not to think about anything. Are you really so different, Hermione?" Clearly the redhead was worried about him too, but understood how ludicrous he found it that Hermione could point out that he was not normal. When had Harry Potter ever been normal? The concept was quite literally laughable.

"I think you should write Dudley," Hermione responded. Harry had never heard any of his friends use his cousin's name, though he had yet to entirely comprehend the fact that Dudley had eaten breakfast with he and Ginny at The Burrow only a few days ago. "The Order has him meeting with a really good psych-healer, a muggleborn who's studying healing magic and psychology both. St. Mungo's just announced in the Prophet that she was going to start working there." When Harry and Ginny simultaneously expressed exasperation at the idea, Hermione added quickly, "I'm thinking about talking to her and seeing if there's anything she can do for my anxiety. I've seen it on your face, too, Harry. I understand, you know?"

"I really don't think you do," he managed to reply. "If you understood but I didn't that would be a bit hard to swallow." The kitchen seemed to drop a few degrees as the conversation turned back to something that had him rather on edge, the implication that someone needed to help him come back to his senses or something of that sort. All he really needed was time to himself and maybe the redhead who was one of the few people who made him feel safe instead of scared. When he stood up, neither girl tensed but they both seemed concerned he was cutting the conversation off. "Butterbeer?" he asked, though that was a mere formality because one way or another, Harry was leaving that room for a moment.

The poorly stocked pantry was not soundproof so he imagined that the frustrated curses aimed at the wall managed to eek their way back into the kitchen and for his part he caught snatches of their conversation on the edge of his hearing as he grabbed not the butterbeer but the last remaining dredges of the Delacours' wine and an extremely old bottle of firewhiskey that was stored there long ago.

"…huge betrayal of his trust…"

"… damn right it was!"

"Be quiet…own good…no choice."

"... should test yourselves."

Harry took a deep breath in, not able to catch any more of the conversation but not enjoying the sound of what he had heard. After a moment of looking between the two bottles, a hot, burning trail of firewhiskey poured down his throat. By the time he managed to repress the urge to cough and grab three glasses, he emerged to find Ginny alone at the table and catch the last remnants of emerald embers in the fireplace, signifying Hermione's retreat. Whatever happened in the short apparent silence, it left Ginny looking like she wanted very much to smash something. Harry, who often felt this way, sat down in the seat he was in moments ago, across the table from her and filled two glasses with firewhiskey, sliding one across to her just in time for her control to burst.

"Self-righteous pricks," Ginny muttered. "Even after everything else, even after George and all of it, they tested you, Harry. They tested you to make sure you weren't someone using the Polyjuice Potion." Surprisingly, this did not upset him as much as it had her. If, as she said, no one was themselves, then he could hardly hold that against Hermione or Ron. It did, however, leave him a bit disappointed. He thought that until the conversation that sent Hermione back to The Burrow, they had made up. His disappointment quickly buried itself under appreciation as Ginny threw back the majority of the glass in front of her without her expression changing. Mind you, in that moment, she looked like she was already quite capable of breathing flame.

"She's right about one thing. I didn't want to say it when she was around because I think she's being stupid for the most part," Harry tilted his head as if to tell her to continue and then attacked his own glass, damn how early in the day it was. "I think you should go see that witch she was talking about." When he seemed dubious, she continued. "Come off it, Harry. You have to admit that when you won't carry your wand anymore something's got to be done." He didn't deny the logic, really. Still, there was the matter of some reporter finding out and splattering it all over the headlines. What kind of a kicker would it be if after years of fighting Voldemort and his cronies and being accused of being mad, Harry finally went that way after Voldemort died? Rita Skeeter would have a bloody field day and probably write her magnum opus "Harry Potter: Legend or Lunatic?"

"Maybe," he finally said, feeling the warmth beginning to spread across his body. Ginny seemed displeased by the response but he held up his hand. "Tomorrow is Fred's funeral. The next day, Lupin and Tonks'. Monday, I—we might…well, it's the full moon." He saw the sympathy dance in her eyes and it was kind but not the point of the statement. "I also have to figure out a way to shake the reporters. I could Floo into Mungo's but how many times before one of them find out and start telling the world I'm mad again? Maybe you and Hermione are right, but not tonight, not tomorrow and damn sure not the day after."

"So what tonight, then?" she asked. "Because I don't think Hermione's coming back, not today. And if Ron tries to come through, I'll curse his bollocks off and no one will be the wiser because there's a 'legal' wizard in the house." Harry laughed, levity sneaking its way back into the night.

"What tonight, indeed?" Harry had to admit that he spent his afternoons sleeping, his evenings sleeping, his mornings sleeping and any time in between staring at the ceiling. "Well, I do think there's all we need for a game or two of Exploding Snap up in my trunk." He had mentioned just doing the normal things they might have done before the war and short of Quidditch you couldn't get much more back to the past without a time turner. Sometimes, though, he wouldn't mind one of those. Harry shivered at the thought but braced himself against the shiver with a bit more of the drink.

Perhaps, that bit more, was the 'just too much' he didn't need. After losing his third consecutive game of exploding snap and managing to lightly burn his hand—Ginny had 'kissed it better,' at least—Harry gave up any hope of beating her. However, she did seem to be willing to take pity on his lack of coordination. Neither of them had seen Kreacher all day, but Harry knew he was probably around. The house elf had his own way of taking care of things and Harry had learned to respect that. That's why he was a bit surprised to see the elf peeking out from a doorway as the pair climbed the stairs from the kitchen up to the sitting room. Exploding Snap being out of the question, he wanted to try to find the wireless and find a little music to relax to. He wasn't sure if Ginny would want to play chess—or if he would be any good at it at the moment—but the room also allowed him to curl up and relax with the music going.

Harry finally settled on a station that seemed to be playing instrumental pieces, classical, muggle and wizard alike. Ginny apparently found some amusement in his choice but she neglected to clarify when he asked. He gazed out the window and saw that the sun hadn't quite reached the highest point of the day. They still had a little time together before they had to dress up and go to the funeral, before she intended to return to The Burrow (though he had hope that maybe she would be around more often.) The next four or five days would really test him. Resolved to enjoy the rest of the day, Harry sat back up and hurried over to where Ginny stood by bookcase, clearly distracted by a title. With strength he hadn't expected he leaned down, hooked an arm under her leg and managed to lift her up, much to her apparent surprise and amusement.

"Now for something completely different," he exclaimed. "Revenge for this morning." A laughing protest was about all that Ginny had time for before Harry sat her down on the couch perhaps a bit too harshly—his muscles apparently didn't want to work with him—and took advantage of just about the only weakness he knew she had. If _he _was ticklish, she was several times worse. It would be worth the inevitable payback, he hoped. The only thing that was for certain is that it was coming.


	6. The Wickerman

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and all associated entities who have a stake and claim in the franchise. I do not, make no money off of this and wouldn't seek to.

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**Chapter Six: _The Wickerman_**

Harry's eyes closed the minute they opened. He went instantly rigid and moaned; it was as if his brain had been replaced by a heart, not one that pumped blood but one that pumped pure agony. When he dared to open them again, his eyes focused not on the ceiling but on two faces hovering over him. Harry didn't question Hermione or Ron being in Grimmauld Place, not even with the prior couple of days ringing inside of his head in time with the very essence of 'pain.' For one confused second he thought that Voldemort was raging an listened for the telltale screams on the edge of his hearing.

Instead a third person was propping his head up and Ron was trying—judging by the look on his face, very carefully—to get a potion down Harry's throat. He opened his mouth, trying to raise an arm to take the vial and drink it himself. Hermione batted his hand away though. Still, the potion began to work its way through his body quickly and his head seemed to clear. That pain-heart slowed and stopped and his hearing came back together.

"Never do that again, Harry," it was not anger, it was pleading. It wasn't Hermione but the third person, the one holding his head in their lap. Tilting it back, he made out Ginny's blurry shape.

"Sit up, mate," Harry obeyed Ron without thinking and found that he needed help. "Bill said that should take about five minutes or so to clear the system." He blinked confusedly at the lot of them. They were in the sitting room, but Harry distinctly remembered stumbling up to the master bedroom when the night ended, laying down beside Ginny, staring into her eyes until she fell asleep and…. Then he hadn't been able to sleep. Ron's hands helped him to stand, though Harry wasn't sure why he needed to. He let the larger man guide him out of the sitting room, away from Ginny and Hermione. The hallway swam, his stomach boiled and that feeling he recognized.

"People die from doing things like that," Ron admonished, sounding very Hermione-ish. "You can't do that, not to any of us, damn sure not to Ginny and mum." At that point, all that Harry knew for sure was that Ron wasn't intent on letting him stop in the middle of the hallway and by the sound of things, he had done something stupid or reckless. Ron's free hand threw open the door to the bathroom and he managed to help Harry in. On the counter by the sink Harry saw his clothing, dress robes among them and there, beside that stack was the eleven inch long stretch of holly wood that Harry knew so well but hadn't casted with in forever.

Something—he quickly learned it was him—smelled of sick. He went to strip off his shirt but found none. A pair of Dudley's old shorts, tied on with a thin bit of rope were all that really stood between Harry and the bath he knew he needed but the mystery of the morning's events was getting to him. He stared pointedly at the wand for several seconds, then his eyes shifted right. _Dress robes. Something formal. _His rolling stomach dropped out again and Harry squeezed his eyes shut against the realization. _Fred's funeral._

The Harry Potter who stood outside of The Burrow was no longer clueless as to what had happened. The empty bottle and a half of firewhiskey that he had discovered lying beside the couch in the sitting room shamed him. Ginny spitting harsh words of condemnation would have been more welcome than the look of concern that everyone—even Hermione—seemed to give him. He had already seen the same look on Bill and Fleur's face and it was only the lack of it in the eyes of Arthur and Molly Weasley that let him know the story was being kept under wrap. For his part, Harry spent the time he was setting up the impressive array of chairs trying to figure out what part of him had decided to go back into the sitting room and do something he _knew _was stupid. He was also trying to guess at exactly what he had done to the large, old piano, because pieces of it still littered the floor.

"Alright, Harry?" He answered with a firm nod toward the source of the question, which had her brown eyes locked on his face as he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the morning sun. "Ten minutes, alright?" When he nodded again, Ginny added, "I'm going to go get George. After you're done with the chairs, come into the kitchen, please?" Who was he to argue? The good part was that he, Ron and Hermione had nearly finished setting out the chairs and whatever else was going on, neither of them seemed mad at him. He couldn't even feel annoyed at their concerned looks because at the least they spoke to him.

"Heading in?" Ron called, from down at the other end of the row. "Alright, tell mum we're all set." His head no longer throbbed, his stomach had long since settled but he felt like he was sweating too intensely for a May morning. He could feel himself shaking as he did the most simple of things like walking, sitting, standing, gripping or lifting. Harry felt awkwardly in his robes for his wand and found it securely where he left it in one of the less visible pockets. He didn't allow his hand to actually touch the wood of the tool but secure with the knowledge it was with him, he moved slowly, shakily through the garden and into the house.

True to his word, Harry's first words were to let Mrs. Weasley know that they had set up the chairs by the graveside. Harry wasn't sure when the hole was dug but the dirt was so fresh he had no trouble believing whoever dug it did so before the sun rose. Fred's coffin was closed, waiting to be lowered. It was in no way similar to the plan Andromeda had for Lupin and Tonks but it was right all the same. He hugged her and she returned it, patting him on the back and as they pulled apart he was sure that she was going to say something about the thin sheen of sweat across his clammy skin or the fact that he could hardly hold entirely still.

Thankfully, that look on her face passed and she turned back to the cup of warm tea in front of her, allowing Harry to move next to Ginny, who responded to his hand on her shoulder by placing hers atop his. For the first time since George had interrupted the four of them in Ron's room, Harry saw the man who was burying his twin today. Beyond—of course—the missing ear, George Weasley looked to be close to his old self. An extravagant dragon hide suit jacket overtop dark pants seemed to be favored over dressrobes. His face was, understandably, morose but he matched eyes with Harry and in response to seeing the closeness of his former teammate and little sister, George reached up, patted Harry on the shoulder once and then stood up.

"Just remember, Harry my boy, I still have my beater's bat." Harry might have tried to formulate a witty response, but that was the moment that someone apparently made the decision to arrive early, however miniscule a difference it was. A loud crack rang out from beyond the back door and Harry could tell with just a glance that Mrs. Weasley was set on going out to meet whoever it was. He let her lead the lot of them out to the yard where Mr. Weasley was seating Minister Kingsley and a pair of aurors whose names Harry guiltily couldn't remember. Percy arrived shortly after, as if following the Minister in. Well, that only made sense. Percy and George shared a look over Harry's shoulder but Harry made a pointed decision not to try to understand it. This was their business and that was all there was to it. He felt Ginny's hand slip into his but though he tried to squeeze it lightly, reassuringly, he could not steady himself.

George, Percy and Mrs. Weasley went off to join the others, but Harry and Ginny remained behind, watching the scene unfold, Harry trying desperately not to look at Fred's casket as he had all morning. He was relieved when Ron approached, swearing as he tugged on the old, mothball smelling dressrobes. Ron's eyes shifted between them carefully but Harry had no guess what thoughts were brewing behind them. "Did you remember what happened last night?" That was it, then?

"Not really," he admitted, unabashed. "But I think I put two and two together. I seem to be saying this a lot lately, but I'm sorry." Ron's response was decidedly low key, it was a simple shrug and for a moment Harry thought he saw a look of resignation but it was quickly buried under frustration at his robes. "Yeah well, Hermione and I shouldn't have tested you for Polyjuice behind your back. I reckon I overreacted. Told myself you'd never threaten Hermione or me, so it couldn't be you."

"I didn't do it consciously," he lowered his voice so that the sound of another arrival Apparating into the area mostly covered it up. "I was just mad, I started moving and I didn't mean to do it. I don't know what I would or wouldn't have done so I can't say I'm mad you two showed up. Reckon Hermione would have left a bone unbroken if you hadn't saved me?"

"Not a chance." To Ginny's visible relief—Harry hadn't realized until then but her grip on his hand was viselike—the pair laughed. That wasn't the moment of some reversal to how things were: after that morning Harry believed that Hermione was right, something was very wrong with him. The question was whether he wanted to go see some complete stranger and let her into his head. For that matter, there were quite enough people who could say they had been in his head. _Well, not anymore, right? Not that are still alive. _Dedalus Diggle arrived in that moment loudly enough to cover up what Ron was saying next alongside an enormous, suited blonde man whom Harry felt a rising urge to curse until he reminded himself that his uncle's hair had long since grayed.

Dudley, for reasons beyond him, had just been subjected to Apparation. So magical travel was possible for a muggle? Looking as weak as Harry felt, Dudley doubled immediately over and heaved once, but managed to exert control over his guts, gasping in fresh air. When Harry did not immediately start toward the boy, Ginny pulled him insistently forward. It was one thing when Dudley showed up unannounced for breakfast at The Burrow but this was something even more bizarre. Why would Dudley come to the funeral of a person whose only experience with him was so unpleasant? Harry had little trouble remembering the effects of the early version of the Ton-tongue Toffee, part of him remembered it with a disturbing amount of glee.

"Harry, he's your cousin and he's clearly reaching out to you," Harry didn't think he had ever before had a moment in which he was so confused by anything Ginny had ever said. The words echoed around his head and when he'd had a full three or four seconds to contemplate them, he still turned the single most disbelieving look he had ever given on the redhead.

"Ginny," he replied, quickly as he saw Dudley's eyes land on him, "the only time Dudley reaches out to someone is to hit them." The ample form broke off from Mr. Diggle, who was swept away toward the suddenly far less empty seats by Mrs. Weasley. There was nowhere else that Dudley was going to be going if he wasn't following Diggle.

"Then explain why he's here, mate? I can't imagine he had all that fond of feelings for Fred or George." Ron echoed his line of thought too keenly for Harry's taste, but stayed a step or two behind him as Harry was led forward to intercept Dudley.

"Harry," the name came out strained and unlike last time, looking into Dudley's face was telling. Harry swore that he could see his cousin fighting a war just in the skin of his face and his eyes. "Sorry for your loss," to Harry's immense satisfaction, he was looking first and foremost at Ron and Ginny and _then _Harry. "You too, Harry. Mrs. Weasley was saying you were close friends so I wanted to come." When Harry didn't have an immediate response, Dudley screwed up his ace as if in pain and added, "Don't think this means I expect a thing from you, Harry. I just wanted to come and see you." Harry at least tried to believe him.

"Thanks," he responded, though his voice came out just as strained as his cousin's and it was made only the worse when, with a small squeeze of his hand, Ginny broke away to join her family. The last lifeline Harry had was Ron who quickly followed after his sister. "Care to sit by me?" There, that was a good start. Honest relief crossed Dudley's face. Harry wondered if the blonde had a legitimate fear of wizards: those eyes watched everyone who he hadn't had some prior association with carefully. Through careful interaction as they walked up toward the front—Harry knew this meant he would be seated far too close to Ron's Aunt Muriel and merlin help them all if she found out Dudley was a muggle—he managed to fill Dudley in on most of the guests who had arrived, actually stopping to introduce him to Kingsley, who Dudley was surprised to learn was Minister. Apparently while Harry had been laying passed out around the fire the day after the party at The Burrow, Dudley had made what Harry might almost call friends with Hermione who greeted him by first name several minutes later when she and Ron sat down beside them.

Trying to play a host, Harry pointed out various people as they arrived and with Hermione's help identified most of them and even managed to explain their jobs to Dudley who seemed disturbingly interested to meet Charlie Weasley, asking each time a redhead appeared if that was him. Someone, apparently, had let slip that the scarred tall man was a dragon keeper. When, comically, Charlie finally seated himself to Ron's left without having been noticed by any of them, Harry lead Dudley into what turned out to be a pretty amiable conversation with the man. Certainly it was far less awkward to overhear than it was to engage in.

George did not join them, though there was a seat for him directly between Fleur and Mrs. Weasley. Bill and Charlie engaged Dudley in meaningless talk the moment that Arthur Weasley set eyes on him, perhaps to spare him the wizard's disproportionate curiosity. In the end, no matter what troubles befell any of the Weasleys, Grangers or Harry himself, they acted as his family. It was just a bit odd that a member of his actual family was trying to do so. Harry hadn't seen or even heard from Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia since they left Privet Drive and he found he did not lament the fact.

Dudley's presence as Mrs. Weasley made a gesture for the crowd to quiet down was awkward enough, especially given the loud and predictable grumbling of Muriel, who it seemed someone had leaked Dudley's lack of magic to. When the majority of the crowd was able to hear a statement about the 'impropriety' of a muggle being brought to a great wizard's funeral, Harry turned in his seat, gave her a broad smile and told her it was good to see her again, which sufficiently confused her and shut her up long enough for Mrs. Weasley to clear her throat.

"Well," she started, trying to act oblivious even though it would have been impossible to miss Muriel's voice. "Here we are." Harry's eyes landed on her and they did not move as Molly Weasley gazed out over the assembled crowd. While far from the size of the great party the day after Voldemort, there were so many people out there that it took her a good moment or two to do just that. "Those of you who knew Fred know that he was a Quidditch player, a student, a brave man. Merlin knows I tried to dissuade him of it, but I imagine most of you will remember him fondly for his penchant for mischief. I look into the crowd and I see faces of people who helped Fred get into and out of trouble more times than I care to count." Harry had seen Lee wandering around earlier and Mrs. Weasley apparently spotted him in the crowd.

"Yes, I'm looking at you, Lee Jordan. I see you two out there as well, Ms. Lovegood, Mr. Longbottom. I know very well how the Carrows' wands were replaced by rubber chickens, thank you." Harry heard a loud chuckle just down the row and looking past Ginny, Hermione and Ron showed George grinning from ear to ear. He was embarrassed to notice but unable to look away without confirming that George looked close to tears. Mrs. Weasley had gone on but Harry didn't tune back in until after several seconds, she added, "and then of course there's someone in this crowd who should know that I'm far from blind and have always known how my sons got the start-up gold for their incredibly successful business. Through that act, they have helped Fred and George touch a lot of lives." Harry felt Ginny's hand on the back of his neck as a rush of emotion hit him. He wasn't sure if it was grief or happiness. Of course Mrs. Weasley had known all along.

"There are a lot of people here," someone in the back replied with a loud, rowdy affirmative, but Harry paid it no heed. "There are a lot of people who miss him but may have their own losses to deal with. So this isn't going to be a long affair. Fred would have loathed the idea, something my George has reminded me every day since he passed. What I'm going to do is ask anyone who wants to come up and share a memory of Fred to do so." It was not even vaguely surprising to Harry to watch so many people rise to their feet in unison as a surprisingly orderly line that seemed to consist of many of the original D.A. Dudley's eyes betrayed his reaction to the staggering number, but Harry's response was to stand up himself and approach the line which he seemed to end by stepping in behind Neville.

For once the mutter caused by his standing up and stepping forward among a crowd of people was muted and for that he was intensely grateful. Harry stood, arms crossed behind his back as he watched person after person step up to Fred's casket and share a memory. Many of them found it impossible to finish their story without breaking into tears. Alicia Spinnet was fiercely determined to hold her composure to the point of shaking and not as Harry shook from weakness but visibly, noticeably. Harry noticed people whose presence seemed exceedingly unlikely among that line, including Dennis Creevey who would not look Harry in the face but spoke about Fred and George as if they had been heroes of his. Harry didn't doubt it, either. Luna's memory wasn't a memory at all, but a poem about a goblet of pumpkin juice that was rapidly emptied over the course of a meal until someone refilled it.

Neville told a story about a month long period during which he helped with Potterwatch while George was down with an injury. Harry found the story heartening because it gave him a glimpse into Lupin as well as Fred. By the time Neville was done. Harry felt as if just a tiny bit of that moment in Fred's life had been shared with him. It was when he stopped beside the closed oaken casket that Harry realized he had come up there without thinking of a single thing.

"Fred's gone," his voice didn't catch in his throat but the words stopped flowing. For a moment he turned to look at the assembled crowd, but first and foremost at the Weasleys. George, Bill and Fleur sat straight up and attentive, Charlie, Percy and Arthur seemed to be comforting Mrs. Weasley during a moment of understandably lost composure and Ron seemed utterly lost for the moment. Several rows back, he latched onto the sight of Andromeda Tonks, resplendent in her fine black dress, the small bundle in her arms denoting that his godson was there, waiting for Harry to take him for the afternoon.

"That's the truth. Fred's gone. I think there's something else, somewhere else. I don't think anyone knows what but I know there's something. I like to imagine Fred's running around with my parents, my godfather and Lupin, wherever that is. Just once in a while. Maybe that's naïve but a bloke can hope. Because Fred's not here with us and we can't have fun with him anymore. He can't slip us something we know we shouldn't eat and watch feathers sprout all over us, watch us turn unnatural colors or anything of the like. The muggles have a term that might have applied pretty well to Fred. 'Mad genius.'" Harry shrugged lightly and pulled himself back on topic, as quickly as he could. "If I had to grab a single memory with Fred, I won't lie, like many of you it would be a story about Fred and George. It would also be incredibly inappropriate, probably even insensitive."

"Go on," George hollered, encouragingly from the front row. Harry heard a chorus of supporting voices, including Charlie and Ginny. The memory was floating around in his head pretty solidly and yet he couldn't seem to find the humor in it he knew he was portraying. "Go on, Harry."

"Well," he said, when several voices had quieted in unison. "I bet people are still talking about me fighting Lord Voldemort." Actual laughter answered him, though he figured it was tempered by nerves. "I bet a lot of you have heard some version of the story of what happened in my first year by now. You-Know-Who had done some pretty unspeakable things. Among those, he," Harry grimaced, "he took up residence in the body of our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. There's nothing funny about that. A man died, presumably a good man. Now though, I have to remember those charmed snowballs Fred and George were throwing around one day around Christmas time." He glanced toward George to see if the redhead remembered this and was rewarded with a crooked smile.

"I'll be honest with you. This is an example of finding humor in the darkest times and that's the reason the story jumps out at me. See, Fred and George here decided that a few of those snowballs needed to hit Professor Quirrel. In the process they struck Voldemort in the face, several times. I never even thought about it until later and it was such a horrible thing to laugh at. I can see in your faces that some of you are grinning; some of you see how amazing just the memory can be. Others probably find this highly offensive. I hope the latter will forgive me, but this is precisely the sort of thing Fred would have loved, right? So I guess I'll get out of the way now, I just want to ask you all to do one thing. Once a day, think of something that makes you happy, makes you laugh. If it's something that makes you feel a bit guilty, all the better." Molly Weasley's tears were interrupted by laughter, laughter that made the awkwardness of the story entirely worth it. Shaking his head, Harry turned away from the crowd and placed his hand against his friend's final resting place.

No poignant words came to him, so a whispered goodbye was all that Harry had to give. When he turned to return to his seat he saw George approaching him, felt the man's hand on his back and a quick, strong hug.

"Fred would have died of pride," he whispered in Harry's ear, voice wavering. "You have no idea, I'm supposed to be the grieving brother, damn it." Not able to entirely suppress his own urge to laugh, Harry broke away from George. By the time he was settled into his seat—Ron was watching George with a child-like awe at Harry's revelation and almost every Weasley seemed entirely different than they had moments before—George had drawn even with his brother's casket. It rose slowly from the ground and into the air. Harry watched the redhead lower his brother, his fellow beater into the hole in the ground.

"I don't have anything grand to say," George told the crowd in his magically amplified voice. "Hard to follow that story up, anyway." No chuckles or hoots of agreement sounded, but Harry felt a lot better after Mrs. Weasley managed to herd Dudley out of his seat and sit down beside him, embracing Harry tightly. Only as she released him did George continue. "I want to thank Hermione for working with me on this. She's had a lot on her plate but realized how important this was to me. Neville, thank you for supplying us with the seeds I needed to test it." Harry glanced briefly between the lot of them but George had still not turned away from the hole his brother's casket had been laid in. Mrs. Weasley's hand grasped his shoulder and Harry took it.

George Weasley pulled something small and brown from his dragonhide jacket. Harry managed to make out what looked like a nut the size of a snitch as it sailed from the man's hand into the open grave.

"_Vita ex Irritum!_"

Harry's breath finally did catch in his throat as he watched the magnificent piece of magic that George, Hermione and Neville had all had a hand in come to life in front of him. It was gradual, beautiful. The nut landed atop the coffin and for a moment rested there. Then at once, the wood began to grow around it, morphing, shifting. The coffin lid itself seemed to break and twist and grow outward into the earth around it even as it began to grow upward. A bright green leaf sprouted from the end of the wooden protrusion and as the crowd cried its amazement, Harry leaned forward, watching the wood grow and change. Plank became uncut wood that grew bark and then widened, growing taller and taller by the second. George stepped back, face triumphant, radiant as if he had just clocked the opposing chaser with a bludger and prevented a score. Harry could hear the tree grow, watch as inch by inch, second by second it aged and twisted and reached for the sky. When it became as large around as Fred's coffin was long, the single glowing green leaf at the topmost point of the tree turned a golden bronze and Harry actually joined several other people in jumping to his feet as hundreds more grew from the massive branches the length of the large tree that threatened to outgrow The Burrow. Vines unfurled, stretching down to the ground, some wrapping around the trunk or various branches near the base, but they bore a flower of a sort that was the same shade of gold-brown as the leaves now providing Fred's resting place with shade.

"An entirely new breed of tree, discovered through hard work and good breeding by Neville Longbottom and named in honor of my brother. He's at the base of the first example of this species to exist outside of a greenhouse." George's recent depression seemed miles away, he was looking at the gathered crowd with pride and in response there was legitimate applause from a great number of it. Whatever control Molly Weasley had was completely gone and Harry couldn't blame her in the least. On what was supposed to be a day of ending it felt like he had seen something that guaranteed everyone who witnessed it just the tiniest bit of hope. That was, Harry knew, the mark of a great wizard. It was what Dumbledore had always done so well: provided hope. There was no doubt that all three of the people involved in this feat of magic were great… the greatest wizards and witch of their age.

Harry did not feel weak in the body anymore. He did not feel like crying. He felt like allowing himself to bathe in the awe that left the crowd around him either speechless or cheering. That was exactly what he did.

He remembered the only muggle at the gathering after what felt like several minutes of silent admiration. Dudley was standing beside Hermione and Ron and like him was visibly affected by the magic. It was not as big a reaction as his own or as Hermione's—Ron was currently rubbing her softly on the back, something had apparently broken for her too at the sight—or even George himself, but Dudley was not perturbed by this where any magic at all seemed to upset him in the past. Instead, wide saucer like eyes matched his smile and Harry saw honest wonder in the blonde's face as he had never before seen.

"I think my friends are absolutely mad," Harry said, lightly elbowing his cousin in the side. "Mad, but geniuses. What do you think?" No proper response managed to find its way out of him, but Harry was quickly distracted by Percy, who had slipped away from the bulk of the family to stand beside George. There was no way to hear what was being said, but it did not seem to upset either of them, so Harry turned away and hunted through the crowd with his eyes, stepping away from Dudley and the others as he went to find his godson.

_This makes the patch of swamp in the charms corridor look like a first year's experiment. _

* * *

**A/N:** Well, I hope you guys don't find that to be to contrite. I feel like it was entirely up George's alley to show the world that magic can still be used not just for offense and defense but to bring people happiness, laughter, joy, awe. Especially because I imagine George needed a bit of that himself. (It also sort of explains Hermione's lack of sleep.) I had a lot of fun writing this scene. I felt awkward as I wrote out the memory Harry shared because it was something entirely different from what anyone would expect of the Harry from the main series. Without giving much away, I have to say that that is _entirely intentional. _

Thanks for reading. One funeral down, one to go.


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